


The Way Things Are (and the way they could be)

by elarielf



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Lonely Avatar Martin Blackwood, M/M, Martin Blackwood/Beholding, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Layers of Manipulation, The Extinction Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Web Made Them Do It (but they were going to do it anyway), Web Avatar Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elarielf/pseuds/elarielf
Summary: Jonathan Sims is rather tired of being kidnapped but Martin Blackwood, a fully-realized Avatar of The Lonely, is a better host that most. True, he's an empty, washed-out version of a human, but piece by piece Jon manages to unearth someone worth knowing behind the isolation and the distance.Of course, there's the questions ofwhyMartin kidnapped him in the first place, what The Lonely wants with The Archivist (or with The Archivist out of the way), why Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas still seem to be working together despite that, and what The Web has to do with. Well. Everything.Other than that, though, Jon is as interested in Martin himself as he is in everything surrounding him. Which include the end of the world. A world that Jon's not completely convinced shouldn't end.Originally posted as a reply to Rusty_Kink: https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=662116#cmt662116 then expanded. The fill is the the first chapter.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 52
Kudos: 126





	1. Thawing Out

“You’re not going to talk to me about the glory of your god or anything, are you?” Jon asked, testing the limits of the ropes wrapped around his legs and arms. Since his coma and ‘death’, he’d been a lot stronger, a lot harder to hurt. Still, the servant of The Lonely seemed to have taken that into consideration and the bindings remained firm.

The servant, Martin Blackwood, Jon’s powers cheerfully informed him, just shrugged. “It’s not glorious. It’s better than that. It’s calm. And Peter was right, you do look like you need a rest.”

“Peter Lukas?” Jon guessed. He might have known the Lukas family was involved in this. “Why isn’t he here if you’re so free with his name?” At least the other powers had menaced him with their best. The Lonely had the audacity of throwing an acolyte at him, and this late in his evolution. He’d even left Jon ungagged. What a fool.

Martin just smiled, vague and distant. “Peter owes favours and is owed favours. Usually it balances out, but sometimes it leads to getting The Archivist out of the way for a few days. We’ll put you back and Peter will apologize to Mr. Bouchard and everything will be even again.”

“Between Peter Lukas and Elias Bouchard, perhaps,” Jon said. “Between The Lonely and The Eye, certainly. But between you and me?”

Martin’s smile twisted, just slightly. “You don’t care enough about me to do anything. You know I have no intention of harming you, or stranding you in The Forsaken. I’ll let you go and you’ll forget all about me.”

Jon smiled back, showing teeth. “Doubtful. I don’t forget much of anything these days.”

Martin hummed and looked away, seemingly uncaring about the implicit threat.

They remained in silence for a while. Jon started to get antsy, while Martin seemed annoyingly calm. If Martin _had_ brought him into The Lonely, Jon might have struggled less, might have been more resigned. But they were in the real world, in a nice flat in the middle of London, and Jon could still hear traffic and the noises of other people around him. It was a seductive thought, that if he could get away, he’d be free. Free to do… whatever The Lonely didn’t want him to do.

He’d asked Martin. Martin had ignored him. Then he’d Asked Martin and Martin had told him he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Jon smiled to himself, but it wasn’t a happy smile. That then was why he was here and Peter Lukas was not. He was a sacrificial lamb, an easy target for an angry Archivist to lash out against. Jon wasn’t impressed, wouldn’t have been even if he couldn’t have easily imagined himself in that same position a few years ago.

Martin, oddly enough, didn’t seem to mind. He’d done nothing to protect himself or even try to hide his identity. Even now, he was scribbling something in a little notebook, occasionally crossing things out and looking frustrated, occasionally smiling and nodding as he wrote faster. He was acting as if Jon wasn’t a threat, as if Jon wasn’t even there. And he’d left Jon’s mouth free. As long as Jon could speak, he was a threat.

Not now, though. For now, Jon kept his voice calm and level. “What are you writing?”

“Poetry.”

“What kind?”

“Bland, honestly.” Martin finally looked up, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “I haven’t written in a while, Peter usually keeps me pretty busy. I’m kind of out of practice.”

“What do you do for him?”

“This and that.” Martin put away his notebook. “Do you need to talk? Peter said you Beholding types like to talk, and I was told to keep you as comfortable as possible.”

Jon shifted. He’d been tied to a chair for close to twelve hours. “Then can I go to the toilet?”

“No. You don’t have to.”

“I assure you–”

“Don’t lie, please. It’s unseemly. Any human habits you have at this point are just that, habits. You don’t need to eat or sleep or drink or anything else. You’re nothing but an instrument of The Eye, just as Mr. Bouchard is. More so, in a way. So, you don’t need to visit the toilet, but you do need to talk.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t need,” Jon spat vehemently.

Martin just nodded. “Then ask honestly and don’t lie.”

Jon looked Martin straight in the eye and dislocated his wrist. It made a sound that was somewhere between a snap and a crunch and, unfortunately, almost instantly healed, well before Jon could pull it through the ropes. Martin made a sound of displeasure and knelt beside him, checking him over.

“Please don’t do that.” Martin’s hands were soft and large and warm as they prodded Jon’s hand and wrist and arm. “It won’t help. Just be patient and I’ll let you go in a couple more days.”

“And what’s happening in those few days?”

“I don’t know.” Satisfied that Jon hadn’t harmed himself beyond repair, Martin stood up. “I made sure not to know.”

“Because you knew I’d ask.” Martin nodded and Jon growled, low in his throat. “Fine, who is Peter Lukas working with?”

“The Web, The Void, The Spiral, and Mr. Bouchard, on different occasions. The Web gave us the rope you’re tied with.”

“Which is doing something now, The Web, The Spiral, The Void, or Elias?”

Martin shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure it’s any of them, honestly. There are a lot of people who want you out of the way, or gone permanently, and Peter does love to be owed favours.”

“So if the right offer comes up, you’ll kill me?”

Martin shrugged, then shook his head again. “No. I don’t think anyone could offer Peter anything that would make him move so blatantly against The Eye. His family has a huge vested interest in The Magnus Institute, and not just financially.”

“What do you mean?”

Martin smiled. “I don’t know.” He held up a hand to forestall Jon’s angry protest. “I really don’t. I know it’s true because of how Peter acts, because of how much _lonelier_ he gets after meeting with Mr. Bouchard. Peter thinks The Lonely works better with contrasts, and missing someone is a potent source of loneliness.”

Jon hadn’t considered that. “Who do you miss?”

“No one. And no one misses me. No one even remembers me.”

“I will.”

Martin looked at him, sharply, and Jon could see something there, the first emotion that wasn’t mild humour or frustration. It was hunger. “Promise?”

“Oh, Martin.” Jon smiled widely at the there-and-gone flash of fear on Martin’s face. He hadn’t given his name. “I promise.”

Martin moved Jon into his bedroom and got ready for bed. _He_ clearly still needed human habits. Jon sat in the dark as Martin ignored him and climbed into bed, turning off the light and almost immediately falling asleep. Jon tested his bonds again, for lack of anything better to do, and cycled through the nightmares he’d collected through his various in-person statements, and then struggled to get free again. He wasn’t really surprised when he tipped the chair over in his efforts. He hissed with pain, rolling forwards to take the pressure off his broken ulnar bone as it knit itself back together. Martin turned on the light.

“Honestly. I told you The Web made that rope, Archivist. You’re being foolish.”

Jon glared at him as Martin gently lifted him, righting the chair and prodding at his broken arm. “Does it hurt?”

“Of course it hurts,” Jon snapped, but it didn’t really. Not as much as it should have. Martin sighed and _squeezed_ over the break and _that_ hurt. Jon cried out, but Martin didn’t let go for several minutes, until the bone had healed straight. “You enjoyed that,” Jon said, accusatory.

“Not really. I’d rather be asleep,” Martin said, but he gave Jon’s arm a little caress as he released it. “Please stop injuring yourself.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

Martin’s face was close to Jon’s. Close enough, almost, to kiss. Jon reared up with all of his strength and headbutted Martin as hard as he could. That _also_ hurt, but it left Martin bleeding from his nose. Jon glared at him through watering eyes as Martin retreated to the bathroom.

This was the part of the movie where Our Hero found a knife or a file or an unlikely corkscrew and slipped it up his sleeve. Jon looked around and, even with the powers of The Eye, found _nothing_. Martin barely had belongings. The one consolation Jon had was that, while the rope held firm, one of the legs of the chair was loose. A fairly pitiful victory, but a victory nonetheless. Jon took it.

Martin returned, an ice pack on his nose and a cloth held under it. The cloth was already staining a nice red. Jon smiled – he was nearly indestructible, and Martin was as fragile as a normal human. “How long have you served The Lonely?”

“Abadaif.”

“What?”

Martin took a deep breath and enunciated as well as he could. “All by dife.” Well, he tried.

“Nonsense. You’re no Agnes Montague.”

“Das dot wad I…” Martin sighed and moved the ice and cloth away from his face, letting the blood drip down from his nose. “Can we discuss this tomorrow when I can talk properly?” His voice was only slightly nasal, and he barely managed to catch the blood that dripped off his chin before it hit the floor.

Jon felt a lovely rush of wellbeing at the evidence of Martin’s suffering. “Of course,” he said magnanimously. “Sleep well.”

Martin glared at him and settled into bed. He sat up for a few minutes, waiting for his nose to stop bleeding, then tossed the ice and cloth into the bin at his bedside and turned off the light and fell asleep again. This time he snored. Jon took it as the small victory it was.

Sure enough, Martin looked exhausted when he woke up. His nose was still swollen and, to Jon’s surprise and delight, he had a black eye as well. “Morning!” Jon said viciously.

“…good morning.” Martin tidied up the blood and melted ice and moved Jon out of his bedroom before changing. He was much more careful with getting close to Jon this time, which made Jon at least feel a little less powerless, tied as he still was to the chair. The leg attached to Jon’s right ankle was still loose, and Jon managed to loosen it further before Martin walked past him to the kitchen and put on a kettle.

“Would you like some tea?” Martin asked.

“I thought all that was an unnecessary habit for something like me,” Jon said.

“It is. Well?”

“Yes, please.”

Martin sat across from him and helped him drink it. Their knees touched, pressing though their trousers, and Jon was surprised at how warm Martin was. He behaved himself as Martin fed him and settled back as Martin started drinking his own cup. “Will you answer my question now?”

Martin paused, considering. “I can or, if you like, I can make a statement. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of those, hasn’t it?”

It had. He’d been living off the written ones after Basira and Melanie and Daisy confronted him about… about hunting. They weren’t enough, but it was fine. He wasn’t going to die from not getting a fix. He was in control of his desires. “No, just… just answer.”

“Alright.” Martin shrugged. “I was eighteen and desperate and Peter found me.” Well, _that_ painted quite a questionable picture. “Not like that,” Martin said, giving Jon a stern look. “I was lying on my CV, desperate to get a job, and feeling more and more isolated with each rejection. Peter picked up on that and took me in as a protégé. He didn’t have any kids, and only one nephew who’d completely rejected The Lonely. Peter knew I wouldn’t reject anything, so he tormented and tortured me until The Lonely accepted me as one of its own.”

“How?”

Martin smiled and looked out the window. “He killed my mum.” Jon embarrassed himself by actually gasping. “Not… not like _murdered_ her. He just made sure she was comfortable and cared for and that she died. She died of her illness, fair and square, just maybe a decade or so before she should have.”

Jon sat there silently, absorbing that. His god was not pleased with this bare-bones recitation. It wanted the whole story. Jon ignored it.

“Are you sure you don’t want my statement?” Martin asked as if reading Jon’s mind. “I know the consequences. I think…” He turned his small smile to Jon. “I think I wouldn’t mind seeing you in my dreams.”

Jon blinked at him. “Are… are you _flirting_ with me?”

Martin nodded. “Pretty bad, right? Just like the poetry. Not enough practice lately.” He finished his tea and stood up. “When I said that I’ve served The Lonely all my life, I just meant that I don’t remember a time I wasn’t lonely. I hate it, but I also… crave it? Like it’s a comfortable pain. I’m sure you understand, I just didn’t want you to think I was lying before.”

 _A comfortable pain_. Jon did understand that.

Martin cleaned up his and Jon’s cups and took his notebook and started writing again. Jon watched the sunlight creep over the wall as it moved through the sky. He wondered what Martin’s nightmares would be like. He imagined watching them night after night, and wondered if a watcher would make Martin’s loneliness less acute, or more painful. About four hours after their tea, Martin went to the kitchen and made himself something to eat. He didn’t offer any to Jon, not that Jon wanted a wilted lettuce and tomato sandwich. Jon was hungry for something else, and determined not to fulfil that hunger.

Martin looked at him and sighed. “What can I do? You look miserable.”

“I am miserable,” Jon mumbled, mostly to himself. He raised his voice and looked at Martin. “Why do you care?”

“You’re my charge. I have a duty to… no.” Martin put his sandwich down and faced Jon directly. “I don’t like having you here. This is _my_ space, my refuge. But I owe Peter everything and he asked. So you’re here. And you’re just sitting there, getting your misery over everything and it’s really… crowded.”

Jon looked around. Sure, the flat wasn’t _huge_ , but it had several rooms and there was just the two of them. “I’m sorry that kidnapping me has inconvenienced you.”

“I bet you weren’t such a brat for The Stranger,” Martin grumbled. It clearly wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it was. Or should have been. Jon felt so removed from the person who had suffered at Nikola’s hands that it barely touched him.

“I was scared of Nikola,” Jon said. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh.” Martin smiled. “Good.” His smile slowly faded. “How _do_ you feel about me, then?”

Jon didn’t have to read Martin to know what the cruellest answer would be, the one that would hurt the most. For all Martin embraced his loneliness, being dismissed, thought of as ‘nothing’, was still clearly a painful prospect. “I think you’re as much of a victim here as I am,” Jon said instead. “You’re a patsy, disposable and replaceable.”

Martin nodded slowly. “I think so, yes. Mr. Bouchard _is_ going to be very angry when he finds out what we’ve done. Peter will want a sacrifice to offer as an apology.”

“Don’t you mind?”

“No,” Martin said, and sat down to eat his sandwich. “I’m not sure anyone else would treat you as well, so I’m glad it’s me. Besides, Mr. Bouchard likes useful things, and I can be useful.”

Jon watched Martin eat and sighed. “Look, let me go and I promise I won’t run off.”

“I don’t trust you,” Martin said easily, around a bite of food. He swallowed. “And you might be stronger and faster than me now. But I can find something for you to do.”

It turned out that, even with his wrists tied to the arms of a chair, Jon could use a mouse well enough to play solitaire on Martin’s desktop computer. “Let me guess, this is your favourite game?”

“How could you possibly have known that?” Martin said, almost playfully. “Did you read my mind, Archivist?”

“Not much of a mind to read,” Jon muttered, and Martin laughed.

“Don’t get frustrated. The game cheats.” Martin placed a kiss on the top of Jon’s head and shrugged into his coat. “I won’t be long. Take care.”

Jon, still reeling from the unexpectedly affectionate gesture, didn’t reply.

He clicked away from the solitaire game to the internet browser and painstakingly signed in to his e-mail. He wasn’t able to type, but he could click each key on the accessibility keyboard. It took forever, and Jon cursed himself for having such a long password, but he logged in.

He paused. Had Martin left? He didn’t remember the door closing. “Martin?” Nothing. Martin had put on his coat. Obviously he’d left. Jon shook his head and focused back on the task at hand.

Almost all his e-mails were from Elias. The most recent one just had the title ‘Urgent Conversation Required’ – which was likely Elias’s version of ‘we need to talk’ filtered through his bureaucratic brain. Jon rolled his eyes and mentally apologized for getting kidnapped _again_ and hit the reply button.

In his response he got as far as ‘I’m at’ before pausing. He knew exactly where he was. Martin Blackwood’s flat, off Wheatsheaf Lane. He could let Elias know and Elias could send someone for him within minutes. They weren’t even that far from the Institute, it could take less than an hour, all told.

Jon imagined Melanie, Basira, _Daisy_ coming to rescue him and confronting Martin. They were all experienced enough to know to shoot first and ask questions of Jon or Elias later. Even without Daisy’s instincts, Martin would likely not survive any rescue attempt from the Institute.

“Damn it,” Jon swore, wishing he had an arm free to slam against a table. He was literally seconds, words away from freedom and he couldn’t…

He couldn’t kill Martin. And that would be exactly what he would be doing if he asked Elias for help. Even if he’d asked for Martin to remain unharmed, Elias wouldn’t pass on that message, Jon knew him well enough to know that much. He could e-mail one of the others, but they knew better than to treat electronic messages as real until verified, and would either investigate long enough to make rescue pointless, or take Martin out as a possible agent of The Web, manipulating them.

“What do I care if he dies?” Jon asked aloud, trying to convince himself. “He’s clearly not an ally. I’m sure he’s hurt people, the same as all the other Avatars. The same as me. We should all be put down.” The curser blinked cheerfully at him, inviting him to continue. “Damn it.”

He logged out and didn’t even bother returning to the stupid solitaire game. He checked through the news briefly, not even sure what he was looking for and certainly not finding it. Whatever was happening was certainly too subtle for the mainstream media to report on. The usual paranormal investigators were equally unaware of anything new. Jon sighed.

He yelped, and would have jumped if he hadn’t been tied down, when he felt a hand gently caress the back of his head. “Martin! Where the hell did you come from?”

“I never left. Needed a break, so I just slipped into The Lonely for a while. It’s pretty effective, being so close to someone and unable to communicate with them.”

Jon felt his stomach drop. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yeah.” Martin started untying the ropes that held Jon to the chair. “I could use some help preparing dinner, if you’d like.”

“I… guess. Sure.”

Jon washed up and used the toilet first. Habit or not, it was a refreshing relief to perform such simple human tasks. His wrist and arm were fine, and the rope burns were almost completely faded by the time he dried his face. He left the bathroom and could hear Martin in the kitchen. He could also see the exit, unguarded and inviting. All he had to do was walk to it. Even if Martin tried to stop him, without the element of surprise he wouldn’t be able to. He joined Martin in the kitchen.

“What do you need?”

“Potatoes need to be peeled, and carrots need to be chopped,” Martin said cheerfully, humming to himself as he diced an onion. It made sense that he’d know how to cook – Jon had enough experience cooking for one to know that it could make loneliness more acute. “Knives are in that drawer.” Martin gestured with his head.

Jon got out a peeler and started working on the potatoes. He mostly lived on take-out and pre-prepared meals, so he took care to do as good a job as Martin would have. The little bastards had divots and eyes, though, and Jon felt a visceral satisfaction in poking them out.

“That’s good enough,” Martin said, enfolding Jon’s hand in his larger one. “We’re just boiling them, so no need to be so picky.” His hand felt warm. Or Jon’s hands were just cold from handling the potatoes. Either way, Jon found himself relaxing as Martin took the peeler away from him and handed him a chef’s knife. “Cut them into… hmmm… quarters? Or sixths, for the larger ones. Would you like a cup of tea while I’m boiling the water?”

It was like Martin had read a book that told him to offer tea to his guests. Jon hid a small smile. “That would be lovely. Thanks.”

After the first stage of preparation, they waited for the potatoes to boil and headed for the living room. Jon couldn’t help but glance over at the door, and he could see Martin’s amused reaction to it. He set his jaw and sat down on the couch while Martin sat on the other end. “Do you cook a lot?”

“When I have time. This dinner is a little ambitious, but it’s your last evening here, and I wanted to make something special.”

“You’re letting me go tonight?”

Martin shook his head. “Tomorrow afternoon. Peter wants a chance to talk to Mr. Bouchard before you do. He thinks getting him riled up and then having you walk in, safe and sound, would be funny.”

The worst part was, it would be. “I’m not sure Elias would get riled up about me.”

“You’re very important,” Martin said. “It’s why we have to be so careful with you. Killing you would be catastrophic, but more than a few of our acquaintances enjoy catastrophes.” He took a sip of his tea. “Likewise, if you get much more powerful, that’s not great either. The Eye is already pretty notorious for getting into other people’s business. Between you and Gertrude, I don’t think there’s a single power you haven’t annoyed.”

“Gertrude even annoyed The Eye,” Jon muttered. “Elias murdered her.”

Martin looked genuinely surprised. “Oh. That’s… huh. Everyone thought she was his mentor.”

“Maybe she was. But he killed her anyway.” Jon looked at Martin over his cup. “You can see why I’m sceptical about how much Elias cares for me.”

“Then why stay?”

Jon shrugged. “I had a choice, I think. Once. Now it’s less a choice of if, and more a choice of how.”

“That’s why you’re not taking statements directly?”

“Among other things.”

Martin sighed. “It’s not good for you. Like you said, you made your choice. It’s done. Why are you punishing yourself for it?”

“Because I’m still not sure it was the right choice. I could have died. I could have remained human, mostly human at least, and died. But I didn’t want to.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“But I don’t have to pay the price for that choice. _They_ do, all the people I retraumatize by forcing them to relieve their worst fear over and over again.”

“So what? Do you really care about them?”

“Of course I do!”

Martin put his tea down and took Jon’s hands in his. “Jon. Don’t lie. Do you _really_ care about them?” Martin’s hands were warm and gentle, but his eyes were cold and callous. He wouldn’t judge.

“…no. I care that I don’t care, but no. I don’t.”

Martin kissed him.

Jon sputtered and pushed him away, spilling tea everywhere. “I… that’s not…” He stood up and backed away, shaking his head.

“Sorry,” Martin said, picking up the fallen cup and carefully placing it on the table. “Thought we were having a moment.” He didn’t look up. Half of Jon wanted desperately to see his face. The other half just wanted to bolt.

“We… maybe we were? I don’t know, I… I don’t do well with surprises.”

“Is that all?” Martin finally looked up, his face full of hope. Jon froze as Martin stood up, some animal part of him registering Martin’s larger size even as the rational part of him knew he wasn’t that kind of threat. “So, if I just warn you first…”

“Martin…”

“Jon.” Martin moved slowly, carefully, giving Jon more than enough time to retreat or put up some kind of defence. “I’m going to try to kiss you again.”

Jon swallowed hard but stood his ground as Martin gently cupped the back of his head and pressed their lips together.

It was… fine. Nice, even. Martin’s mouth was tea-warmed and soft, and he didn’t press his advantage. It was Jon who parted his lips first, with a little gasp as Martin pressed against him, pressing the cool dampness of his shirt where the tea had spilled against Jon’s abdomen. Jon pulled away from that discomfort, feeling his cheeks burn.

“Well. That. Was. Yes.”

Martin smiled. “Why don’t you get cleaned up while I finish dinner?” He fetched a fluffy towel and a shirt and sweats with a drawstring for Jon to change into. “I’ll wash your clothes for tomorrow, so you can present your best face to Mr. Bouchard.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, feeling like an idiot for thanking his captor for doing his laundry.

He took a long time in the shower. No reason not to, and it gave him time to think. Unfortunately, all he could think about was the fact that he’d have to walk out of the bathroom in Martin’s borrowed clothes and sit down to a meal with him while knowing what he tasted like after a cup of tea.

This was the weirdest kidnapping ever, and no one had even put lotion on his skin.

Martin’s clothes were too large, but incredibly soft and comfortable. Jon rolled up his trouser legs and took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

The smell of home-cooked food hit him almost instantly. Jon hadn’t thought himself nostalgic for his childhood but, for all her other flaws and faults, his grandmother had done her best to keep him well-fed. Not that he’d cooperated, when meal times were boring and took time away from more productive pursuits.

Martin had just checked the oven, and looked up with a smile as Jon walked in. “Feel better?”

Jon had felt better. But then he’d realized that he was in oversized sweats and a tee-shirt, with bare feet, while Martin had changed into a silk shirt that seemed to change colour as the light hit it between blue and green, and well-fitted black slacks. He’d dressed up. Jon really wished he knew the moves in this game.

“A little underdressed, but comfortable,” Jon said. Martin’s smile widened. “Thank you for lending me these.”

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” Martin said, bluntly honest. “But you look a little ridiculous.”

The acknowledgement took a lot of the awkwardness away, for some reason, and Jon found himself smiling back. “How close is dinner?”

“Almost done. If you wouldn’t mind setting the table?”

The meal itself was fine, but eating it reminded Jon that he hadn’t fed himself in a more useful way for nearly a week. A written statement would have been welcome, but it was likely that one wouldn’t be enough. He took a deep breath as Martin cleared the table. He could wait.

“What would you like to do now?” Martin asked. “I have some books, but they might not be to your taste. Or we could watch a movie?”

“A movie sounds fine,” Jon said. Some background noise to distract Martin while he thought about what to do next.

“There’s a collection in the basket under the television,” Martin said. “Pick whichever you’d like.”

Martin had not only a bluray and DVD player, but also a VHS player. He also, amazingly enough, had VHS tapes. None of them seemed at all appealing, which was almost too bad, as Jon was interested in seeing how truly awful the quality could be. He rummaged through the disks, impressed at how many nature and travel documentaries there were interspersed with blockbuster and arthouse movies. One DVD was still in its wrapper. Covering the front was a card that read ‘Many Thanks!’ in a cursive script. Jon opened the card and read the inscription ‘Dear Martin. Thanks for clearing up that little mess. Sorry about the short notice. Will try to give you more of a heads-up next time. Regards, Peter’. The lettering was easy to read and almost friendly. Jon closed the card and flipped it up to look at the cover of the DVD and. Oh. It was porn. Lovely.

From just over his shoulder, Martin chuckled. “I mean, okay. I can’t vouch for the quality, as I haven’t watched it, but it that’s what you like…”

Jon refused to be embarrassed. “Does your mentor often gift you pornography?”

“Not often. But sometimes. Peter has a weird sense of humour and no sense of boundaries. Besides, he thinks porn is great. What’s lonelier than watching other people have sex while you wank off in your empty bed?”

Jon turned to reply and Martin was right there, far closer than Jon had anticipated, with his easy smile and his swollen nose and darkened eye. Jon reached up and touched the bridge of Martin’s nose, wincing when he did. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No you aren’t.”

“I wasn’t at the time, but I am now.”

“Oh.” Martin smiled and pulled Jon’s hand down. “I would like to kiss you again.”

“Alright.”

Martin closed his eyes as their lips met, Jon noted. Was that a Lonely thing? He was still careful, gentle, and Jon had the feeling it wasn’t just for his sake. Martin’s hands settled lightly on Jon’s hips and Jon’s curled slightly against Martin’s chest, in a perfect position to push him away or pull the delicate fabric of his shirt closer. Jon did neither.

The kiss ended naturally, comfortably, and Martin stepped back, sliding his hands off Jon in a gentle caress.

“Why do you keep kissing me?” Jon asked.

“I need a motive?” Martin asked incredulously. “Maybe I just want to.”

“It’s not that simple,” Jon said. “It’s _never_ that simple with things like us.” He took a deep breath and tapped into powers that were a little unhappy with him for not providing for them as well as he could. “ **Why do you keep kissing me**?”

Martin smiled, almost the same way Elias had smiled when Jon had compelled him. “I like you. You’re good to have around, when you’re not miserable. When you decided not to call the wrath of Beholding down upon me, I knew you liked me too. And you kept your word and stayed, and you… you’re going to remember me. If I’m good, maybe you’ll even miss me. I’ll miss you. I’m going to miss you so much, Jon.”

The longing in Martin’s voice was undeniable. Jon knew the sound of that craving, that desperation for something to feed his master. “So that’s what this is about? Being a better servant for The Lonely?”

“Yes,” Martin said. “But it has to be you. You’re the only one I’ve wanted, the only one I’ve cared about since… since my mother died. You’ll remember me, you _promised_ to remember me, and I’ll think about you all the time when you’re not around. I’ll watch you, sometimes, aching to touch you, to talk to you, but I won’t. I’ll write poems about you, and they’ll never come out right. Peter will mock me, and I’ll be miserable with it. And then, when I break and visit you, maybe you’ll be happy to see me, maybe you’ll be cruel. Maybe you’ll even be cold, pretend not to remember me. But I’ll take whatever you give me and miss you again when you’re gone.”

Jon stared at him. “That is… horrifying, Martin.”

Martin laughed, and there was a hysterical edge to it. “You watch people’s worst fears over and over again. You pry into people’s minds, and take truths that they try to hide, even from themselves. You should be dead, and you live and breathe and are just so bloody judgemental, aren’t you? We’re the same, Jon. You and me and Peter and Mr. Bouchard, we’re all the same. The rest of us have just stopped fighting and accepted it.”

“…stopped fighting?” Jon asked softly. Martin froze. “You didn’t want this either, did you? You were desperate and already primed to accept, just like I was. Peter Lukas had your mother killed to break off your ties to the real world, and you frame it as owing him everything.”

“I do. I do owe him everything,” Martin said. “You don’t understand, I’m worthless. No one wants me, no one has ever wanted me. Peter didn’t have to kill my mother, she didn’t want me either. He was just annoyed that I kept trying. I was a kid, I didn’t know any better! And, yeah, it hurt at first. It was cold and I was scared and I didn’t think it would ever end, but once I accepted it, I could see that it was peaceful too. He gave me that, that peace. And this flat and these clothes and everything I own is paid for by the Lukas family. What am I supposed to do, take my non-existent resume and work history and find out who wants to hire a thirty-one-year-old dropout?”

“Isn’t that better than killing people to survive?”

“I don’t kill anyone! It’s… killing isn’t efficient. Anyone who finds their way into The Lonely once can find their way again. I’ve caught a few people five or six times. And yeah, they’re scared for the few weeks or months they go missing, but they’re not hurt. They’d be scared anyway. They’re always scared, people are always scared, Jon. It doesn’t matter what we do, they’re _always_ scared. Might as well use it.”

Jon looked away. “I see.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Martin said after a long moment. His voice was soft now, tired almost. “You and Gertrude Robinson, both. I wonder if it’s an Archivist thing, if you think that distance is the same thing as non-culpability.”

Jon gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least. I truly think Gertrude thought she was doing the best she could, working with monsters, even becoming one to try to stop them. But I know I’ve surpassed her. I know that because Elias murdered her by shooting her in the chest three times, and I know that wouldn’t kill me now. I know what kind of monster I am, and I’m trying not to be, but…”

“You’re tormenting yourself and helping no one,” Martin said. “All those people you think you’ve hurt? They were scared before and they’re scared now, only now they have someone to blame. It’s not a vague fear of the dark, or of spiders, or of being alone. It’s you. It’s someone they can point a finger at and blame. Humans love blaming things. If anything, you’re giving them an outlet for it.”

“It’s not about them,” Jon said. “I wish it were. If it was about helping them, I might be able to consider myself at least a decent person. But it’s about me. Because I’m not decent.”

Martin bit his lower lip. “I think… I don’t think it’s about you being decent or not. It’s about you being human or not. And you aren’t. That’s what you need to accept.”

“I think you might be right.” Jon put the movie back. “But I’m not ready to accept that. Not yet.”

“Fine. In the meantime, enjoy judging the rest of us.”

“Martin.” Jon grabbed Martin’s wrist before he could walk away. “I’m not… it’s not you I’m judging. It’s Peter Lukas. You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve been given and there’s something admirable about that. You’re not worthless. But Peter Lukas is a sad piece of garbage who preys on children and puts his subordinates at risk to spare himself an inconvenience and _he’s_ worthless. I just wish I could help you in some way.”

“If you could be normal again, divorced from The Eye and all its knowledge and power, would you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jon said emphatically. “In a heartbeat.”

“At any cost?”

“No, I know enough to know I wouldn’t be willing to pay _any_ cost,” Jon said. “But I would be willing to give up a lot.”

Martin nodded. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t give up the peace of The Lonely. We’re different, Jon.”

“I know.” At some point, the grip Jon had had on Martin’s wrist had turned into hand holding, their fingers lacing together. “I like different.”

Martin leaned his forehead against Jon’s. “You’re sending me some mixed signals, here.”

“Good. Then I’m not the only one confused and unsure.” Jon smiled as Martin huffed a laugh against his face and moved away, keeping their fingers laced together as long as he could. He chose one of the nature documentaries and settled on the couch as it started. Jon sat on the other side and wondered when and how this had changed from a hostage situation to a slice of domestic life to an existential argument to an awkward date.

Also, he wouldn’t have picked this documentary. The deep, pleasant voice of the narrator did little to mitigate the fact that the focus was clearly spiders.

Jon shot Martin a look, and Martin’s shoulders hunched almost imperceptivity. “What? I like spiders. It’s not a Web thing, I just think they’re cute. Especially the peacock spiders.” Jon snorted and looked away, but he could feel Martin’s eyes still on him. “The Web… touched you, didn’t it? That’s what Peter said, he called you ‘Elias’s Web-Marked Archivist’ when you were chosen.” Jon shuddered. “I can change it if you want.”

“…please.”

Martin switched to a travel documentary. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?” Jon asked, just a little nastily.

Martin shrugged. “Sure. I told you I’d give you a statement if you wanted.”

 _Yes_ , something thrummed within Jon. _Let him, get it, take it, make it ours_.

The thing about the dreams was that Jon was as helpless in them as his victims were. He couldn’t help, even if he wanted to. All he could do was watch and let them know their suffering was seen and make it worse.

He imagined watching Martin suffering, and doing nothing about it.

“No. Thank you.”

They watched the documentary for a few minutes before Martin spoke again.

“It wasn’t just The Web, was it?”

“No, it was just The Web,” Jon said. “Mr. Spider.”

“No, I mean… you’ve been touched by a lot of them. The Corruption, The Stranger, The Desolation, The Hunt, The End… The Spiral claimed she’d got you as Michael.”

“…not untrue.”

“Wasn’t sure. She lies for fun.”

“Do you have meetings? Tea parties for monsters only? When do I get my invite?”

Martin laughed. “No, Peter just… has a lot of connections and takes me along sometimes. Gertrude Robinson was a hot topic when she was alive. There was a lot of speculation when Mr. Bouchard chose you as her replacement. Have you been Marked by The Lonely?”

“No. Not yet.” Jon thought about it, actually thought about it for a long moment. “Actually, The Lonely is the only one that hasn’t Marked me. Yet.”

“Don’t look at me,” Martin said. “I have _strict_ orders to keep you out of The Lonely. Peter was very clear on that.”

“It would have made things much simpler for you.”

“Yeah.” Martin grinned. “You probably wouldn’t have broken my nose.”

“I didn’t break it, precisely,” Jon said, feeling unaccountably guilty. “And you kept me tied to a chair for two days. I’d say you earned it.”

“No argument,” Martin said easily. “It was kind of impressive, getting off a hit like that while being tied up.” He blushed a little and looked away.

Jon stared at him. “Martin Blackwood, were you _turned on_ by my physical assault of you?”

“No! Maybe. A little.” Jon laughed at the ridiculousness and Martin gazed at him adoringly. “You have a nice laugh.”

Jon’s laugher died down into a small smile. “You’re going to miss it when I’m gone, aren’t you?”

“Terribly,” Martin said. He looked quite pleased at the prospect. “Will you miss me?”

“I’m not sure. Does it matter if I miss you?”

“No. But I think I’d like you to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The documentary ended and Martin put on another one. This one was about some kind of large African cats. They watched it in silence as the sun set, leaving the room eerily lit from the television and the streetlight that filtered thinly through the window. When that was done, Martin fished out an arthouse film, and Jon prepared to be thoroughly bored.

Martin’s nose was still swollen enough that when he fell asleep halfway through the movie, he started snoring. Jon got up and took the duvet off his bed and wrapped him up in it. Martin woke up as he was tucking him in and gave him the sweetest smile. “C’mere.” Jon regretted it before even slipping under the duvet with him, snuggling into his warmth. This was a bad idea.

“Hey,” Martin said, no longer asleep. He had his arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders and Jon could hear his steady heartbeat. “Can I show you something?”

Jon nodded.

Martin pulled the duvet over their heads, blocking almost all the light, save for a flickering faint glow from the television. “Did you ever do this as a kid?”

“Do what?”

“Hide under your blanket and pretend you were in a different world.”

Jon shook his head, then realized that Martin probably couldn’t see him. “No.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s not as universal as I thought.” Martin tugged Jon closer, until he was practically holding him in a one-armed hug. “This is a pale reflection of it, but it reminds me of The Lonely. I guess I was always looking for it, even as a child. My dad wasn’t abusive, exactly. My mother wouldn’t have stood for that. But he could be loud, and he was always angry at something. Work, his family, life in general. He left when I was eight. That was when mum started getting sick.”

Jon closed his eyes. He hadn’t asked. This wasn’t his fault.

“When Peter first brought me into The Lonely, he held my hand the entire time. Told me if I let go, I would just vanish into it. He was lying, of course, teasing me. But I believed him completely, and… and a part of me wanted to. To let go of his hand and just… disappear. He smiled at me and told me I did well, even though I just stood there, holding his hand. I think he knew what I wanted, and I think that was when he decided to keep me.”

“Did he hurt you?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Martin said. “Not physically, he’s not… He’s a big guy, but he doesn’t use violence. It’s too much effort. He’s just cruel.”

Jon thought about Elias, about how he’d tormented Melanie with the truth. About how he’d toyed with Jon with half-truths and omissions. About how he’d trapped Daisy and Basira by offering them a choice that wasn’t a choice. “Most of us are cruel.”

“You’re not.”

“I assure you, I can be,” Jon said. “ _You’re_ not.”

Martin kissed the top of his head. “I can be, too.”

Jon believed him, not because Martin had showed him any cruelty, but because what he was stripped away the parts of humanity that prevented cruelty. And yet, as he felt Martin relax against him and drift back off to sleep, Jon felt only safety and security in his arms. A duvet couldn’t keep out The Eye, and yet it felt private, peaceful here. Until Jon closed his eyes and once again visited the nightmares of everyone he’d tormented.

Sometime during the night, the duvet had slipped down low enough for the morning sun to filter through the windows, just bright enough to wake Jon up. Martin placidly snored on, barely tightening his grip and giving a soft moan of protest as Jon wriggled out of his hold. He turned over the laundry, hoping it hadn’t mouldered overnight, and filled the kettle before plugging it in. He’d slept in an awkward position, and should have felt stiff, but he didn’t. He felt relaxed and…

…hungry.

It wouldn’t be long before he could return to the Archive and record a few statements. He could wait a few hours. In the meantime, he gathered up the teacups, making enough noise to wake Martin who joined him.

“Make yourself to home, I suppose,” Martin said with a good-natured yawn, stretching out his neck and shoulders. “How’d you sleep?”

“Apart from the never-ending parade of nightmares, quite well. You?”

Martin stood behind him and kissed the top of Jon’s head. He seemed to like doing that. “Just the one nightmare, as usual.” He settled his hands on Jon’s hips, slightly tentative, as if unsure of his welcome. Jon leaned into him just a little, enough to reassure him that it was okay. “Would you like me to talk about it?”

A shudder of pure desire rolled through Jon. Martin pulled him back against him, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist in an embrace that was more confining than comforting. Jon bit his lip to stop himself from answering, or worse, from Asking. Martin slipped a hand under Jon’s oversized shirt and rubbed at the skin just above the waistband of Jon’s low-riding sweats. “I can give you what you want,” he whispered as Jon fought against the conflicting impulses to melt into his touch and pull away. “All you have to do is take it.”

No. With every instinct and impulse screaming at him to do just that, a part of Jon still resisted. It didn’t know _why_ , but it knew that he shouldn’t. “I… I can’t. Not you, Martin.”

Martin froze and then pulled away all at once. Jon caught himself on the counter, panting and shivering as if he’d been plunged into icy water. His head swam and he felt faint. That was probably the hyperventilating. He carefully lowered himself to the floor before the choice was taken away from him.

The shriek of the kettle startled him, and he jumped. Above him, Martin just sighed. “I’ll get it.” The sounds of him preparing tea helped, and Jon closed his eyes and just let the domestic noises wash over him.

He wished his brain wasn’t so good at coming up with excuses, justifications for doing whatever he wanted. He’d lied before, when the others had confronted him, claiming he felt controlled, letting them believe that maybe it was The Web forcing him to do things. It wasn’t. It never had been. He hadn’t fooled anyone, but his attempt made him more aware of his own internal mental gymnastics whenever the question of feeding his hunger came up.

He imagined watching Martin huddled in fearful misery and being unable to do anything about it. It was bad enough when it was strangers. He couldn’t do that to a… friend?

“Here,” Martin said, passing Jon a cup of tea.

“Thanks.” Jon took it and just let it warm his hands.

Martin hesitated, then sat on the floor, opposite Jon. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“You said you knew the consequences,” Jon said, staring into the tea. “I don’t think you do. You’re not powerful enough to keep me out if you change your mind.”

Martin huffed. “You don’t have to lie to me. You know enough about me to know that I’m used to rejection.”

Jon laughed. “You seriously think that’s what this is? Martin, if I didn’t care about you, I’d take what you’re offering without hesitation. I’d watch your suffering nightly and stand by, feeling nothing but satisfaction in your fear.”

“The fear is there anyway,” Martin said. “At least, if you were there…”

“What? If I was there, what? You wouldn’t be alone? Of course you would. My presence wouldn’t change that, it would just make it sharper, more real, because it’s being observed.”

“That wouldn’t matter,” Martin said sulkily. “At least you wouldn’t be suffering.”

Jon sighed. “My suffering is temporary. I’ll return to the Institute once you’ve released me and I’ll read some statements.” He finally looked up at Martin and tried for a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. Besides, how can you miss me properly if you see me in your dreams every night?”

“I’m pretty sure I still would,” Martin said, but he sounded resigned.

Jon took a sip of his tea and reached out and awkwardly patted Martin’s knee. “We only have a few more hours. What do you want to do?”

A wave of images filled Jon’s mind, and he startled at their intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think calming thoughts. “God, I wish I could control that.”

“What?” Martin sounded concerned. “What’s… oh. Um. Sorry?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jon said. “Shouldn’t have asked such an open-ended question. Stupid of me really.”

“N-no, I shouldn’t… I mean, I doubt you want to do any of that…”

“Not sure half of it is physically possible,” Jon muttered, and Martin curled up and groaned slightly in mortification. “Sorry. Can we just pretend…”

“That you don’t know I want to fuck you?” Martin said, his voice only slightly shaky. “No. I don’t think I can pretend that.” He gave an uncertain laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is the point where you tell me it’s not me, it’s you.”

Jon snorted. “Actually, yes.” He tried to draw himself up with some dignity. “I don’t put out on the first date, even if that first date spans three days and includes mild bondage.”

Martin laughed, and looked like the laugh surprised him. “So you’re saying, maybe after a second date…”

The images were seared into Jon’s mind and, despite Martin’s clear assumptions, not all of them were sexual in nature. The fuzzy, dreamlike quality of them was likely at least partially due to the fact that Martin had never seen him naked (with all his scars) and didn’t like visualizing his own body. Still, despite some of the more… athletic visions, there were enough images of them cuddling or sitting together or holding hands. Fantasies of closeness, intimacy. Anathema to The Lonely, Jon would have thought, but apparently _Peter_ was a fan of contrasts.

Jon could do that. More that that, Jon found that he _wanted_ to give Martin that closeness. He scooted around and settled next to Martin, hip-to-hip, nursing his tea. After a moment, Martin’s arm slid behind him, his hand coming to rest on his opposite hip. Jon leaned into him.

Martin sniggered. “You’re terrible at this. You’re so tense.”

“Shut up, Martin,” Jon said without any heat. Martin’s grip on his hip tightened slightly and he shifted into a more comfortable position and they drank their tea on the kitchen floor.

“When did you change your mind?” Martin asked out of nowhere.

“Hmm?

Martin shifted, turning slightly so he could look Jon in the eye. “When did you go from headbutting me to wanting to protect me from your militant friends?”

Jon had to admit that the description was accurate. “I’m not sure. I shouldn’t have headbutted you in the first place. Apart from the kidnapping, you’ve been admirably civil.” It irked him a little bit. Made him think that Martin had kept his cool, while Jon had lashed out. “I think it was probably some point around when you offered me a statement and started flirting. Badly.”

“I guess I didn’t have to. I just had to wait for Beholding to scoop all my fantasies out of my brain and plop them into yours,” Martin said ruefully.

Jon sighed. “Yes. It does that. I’m not sure why or how it chooses what to show me, but I honestly think it likes you.”

“What? Why?”

“Maybe because you keep offering to feed it,” Jon said. “Stop that, by the way. I can record a written statement and that will work just fine.”

Martin brightened suddenly. “Yeah. I can do that!” He grabbed Jon’s cup and dumped it in the sink with his, before grabbing his notebook and flipping to the back. “How do your statements start?”

“Uh… name, date, brief summary, and then the statement itself. Martin, are you seriously…”

Martin flashed a grin at him before hunkering down, putting pen to paper. “Martin Blackwood, August 11, 2018, statement regarding… indoctrination into The Lonely.”

“It rather defeats the purpose if you recite it out loud,” Jon said, inexplicably charmed.

“True.” Martin waved his hands in a shooing motion. “Grab a book or something and stop hovering. This’ll take a while.”

Jon got a book, but found himself unable to actually read. He watched Martin surreptitiously, but needn’t have bothered with the subterfuge. Martin was completely focused on the statement, only rarely pausing to rephrase something. It was much more intense than watching him write poetry. Perhaps because he didn’t have the same performance anxiety. Perhaps because he was writing this for Jon.

It was foolish. Jon knew this wasn’t how Martin wanted to spend their last few hours together, each in their own corner, isolated. Jon didn’t even need this. By the time it was done, it would almost be time for him to return to the Institute where there were dozens of statements he could read. It was complete foolishness and somehow unutterably sweet. Jon could barely believe that the same, or at least similar, forces that had moulded him and Elias and Peter Lukas had created this man as well. It was beyond belief.

“How accurate do the dates and times need to be?” Martin asked suddenly. “Just, it can be hard to keep track in The Lonely.”

“Make the most accurate guess you can, while stating your degree of uncertainty,” Jon said, and… was that his voice? So gentle, so fond? He hadn’t known he could sound like that.

No. Actually, he sounded like he was talking to the Admiral. Martin and cats, apparently, were Jon’s weak points. And the worst part was, he didn’t even mind.

Martin gave him a grateful smile and went back to writing.

Jon quietly stood up after a few more minutes and headed to the kitchen, putting together the same sandwich he’d seen Martin eat the day before. It didn’t look any less pitiful for being made by him, but he cut it into triangles so at least it was reasonably well-plated. He placed it on the table beside Martin’s notebook and smiled when Martin made a grateful noise, but didn’t look up from what he was writing. He took bites of the sandwich over the next hour or so, finishing it at around the same time he finished the statement. Jon retrieved his clothes from the laundry and changed, instantly missing the soft warmth of Martin’s borrowed clothes.

“There,” Martin said when Jon returned, tearing out four pages from his notebook and passing them to him. “Bon appétit. And thanks for the sandwich.”

What Martin was offering him was a feast compared to the sandwich. Jon carefully folded up the papers and placed it in his pocket. Martin’s hopeful smile faded into an expression of hurt disappointment and Jon took two steps forward and grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.

Martin made a lovely little surprised noise and kissed back, his hands touching Jon’s hips and sides and arms and never quite landing, as if they didn’t know what they were allowed to do. Jon pressed closer and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through Martin’s hair and pulling lightly to expose Martin’s neck. “Martin,” he said softly, as he planted kisses against the fluttering pulse in Martin’s throat. He could feel Martin’s hyoid move under his lips as he swallowed.

“Jon,” Martin breathed out, in a gratifyingly unsteady voice. “You… you know… you’re supposed to ask first.”

Jon laughed into Martin’s skin. “Apologies. May I kiss you?”

Martin made an unmistakably affirmative noise, but pushed Jon back. “I… I don’t know what I can do.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, and Beholding, once again, decided to be helpful. “I… oh. You’ve… never?”

Martin blushed. “I mean, I was an unpopular gay kid and then I was a servant of The Lonely. Not a lot of opportunities.”

It was a crime. “You deserve better than for your first time to be a hasty fumble with a deadline hanging over your head.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind that,” Martin said quickly. “I just…” His eyes darted towards the clock on the bluray player. “Shit. We really _don’t_ have a lot of time, do we?”

“I can be a bit late,” Jon offered. “I’ll just tell Elias I was tied up.”

Martin burst into far more laughter than the joke really deserved. “N-no, they’ll be really mad. Peter’ll be especially mad if you ruin the timing.”

“Screw Peter Lukas,” Jon said. “And Elias Bouchard. Better yet, make them screw each other.”

Martin chuckled again. “I’m about 70% sure they already are.”

“Ugh. Of all the things I wish I didn’t know, I wish I didn’t know that the most.”

Martin kissed him again, and Jon firmly placed his hands on Jon’s hips. They were large, warm hands, and they felt right there.

“I’m going to find you again,” Martin whispered against Jon’s lips between kisses. “Is… is that okay?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon said, smiling into kiss after kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”

They moved to the couch for comfort’s sake, but didn’t get much further than that before Martin got a text. “It’s from Peter,” Martin said, thwaping Jon’s arm when he groaned. “He says to head over.”

Jon took the phone from Martin’s hand and read the text itself. _I’m at the Institute, meeting with Elias. Untie the Archivist and send him on his merry way._ “What a prick.”

Martin kissed him and smoothed his hair. “You heard him. You’re free.”

The hunger pressed on Jon like a physical presence, but he didn’t want to leave. The idea of facing Peter Lukas and Elias rather than staying with Martin made no sense.

But Daisy and Melanie and Basira were waiting for him, and Elias had never been reluctant to take his irritation out on them before.

“You’ll find me,” Jon said, not quite a question.

“You’ll remember me,” Martin said, not quite an answer.

Jon nodded and stood up. “Good bye, Martin Blackwood.”

“Farewell, Jonathan Sims.” Martin walked him to the door and held it open for him with a little smile. “I’ll miss you.”

Jon walked out. He felt the pull of the Institute almost as soon as his feet hit the pavement. It would have been about an hour’s walk, or twenty minutes by bus. It was a nice enough day. He headed east.


	2. Hands-off Seduction

Rosie looked surprised to see him. “Jon! I thought you were taking a sick day.”

“I got better,” Jon said, not entirely sure why she was surprised. He’d been on the run from the police and then kidnapped for several months and hadn’t had to fill out a single leave form. Surely she knew he had _special dispensation_ by now.

“Elias is meeting with Mr. Lukas just now,” she said as Jon headed up to Elias’s office. “I can call you when he’s done.”

“No, I believe Mr. Lukas wants me in on this meeting,” Jon said. He sounded almost as tired as he felt. It made Rosie let him go, though, which was good enough.

He could hear Elias and Peter Lukas talking, although he couldn’t make out the words. Elias sounded irritated and Lukas sounded amused, and Jon could have Known what they were talking about, but that would have heralded Jon’s presence. He just opened the door instead.

“–it’s hardly worthy of– Jon!” Elias looked surprised, which was at least half the reason Jon had played the role Peter Lukas wanted him to. “Where have you been?”

Jon had a brief memory of telling Martin he’d tell Elias he’d been _tied up_ , and he smiled. “Oh, you know. Kidnapped. Again.”

“You look pleased enough about it,” Elias said, gathering up his dignity, while Peter Lukas looked on in unmitigated delight. “Actually, you look awful.”

“Bit peckish. Otherwise fine. No new scars, sorry to say.” Jon looked over at Lukas. “Martin sends his regards.”

“Does he? Lovely boy. I assume his hospitality was to your exacting standards?”

“I might have broken his nose a little.”

Lukas waved that off. “Hazards of the job. We’ll see him taken care of.”

“Hardly,” Elias interrupted. “Unless you’re willing to take direct responsibility for this, Peter, I’ll take my pound of flesh from him myself.”

“Dirtying your own hands, Elias?” Lukas said lightly. “Seems somewhat out of character.”

“Perhaps. But I will decide what retribution I am owed for this transgression.”

“Don’t I get a say?” Jon asked. Lukas laughed at him.

Elias sighed. “I know this seems counterintuitive to you, given that it is your abduction that we’re discussing, but this isn’t actually about you, Jon. I’m glad to see you returned in one piece. Now head down to the Archives before you waste away.”

Jon really wanted to push back on that dismissal, but he could feel the statements waiting for him. He glared at his boss and his benefactor and left, closing the door behind him, and went to the Archives.

Basira was the only one there, reading a book. She looked up as Jon entered, and he was a little gratified to see concern before suspicion. “What happened?”

“Came down with a touch of kidnapping. Just need a statement or three to get back on my feet.”

Basira leafed through a file, handing Jon some paper. He smiled in thanks and locked himself in his office.

After the first one, he felt more human. Which was a little ironic. After the second, he felt the hunger abate to a mild gnawing in the back of his mind, the usual background irritation.

He considered reading another one, but decided he didn’t need to. He felt the papers in his pocket and smiled to himself. Those he’d definitely save for later.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back out and confront Basira. She would have questions, and he would have to answer them. It would be difficult to do so without pointing her at Martin, which he very much wanted to avoid. But he couldn’t hide in his office all day. Could he? No. It was tempting, but he wouldn’t put it past her to break down the door if she felt like it.

Basira was waiting for him, and put her book down as soon as he left his office. “Want to talk about it?”

_I met a boy_ , Jon thought giddily, but quickly decided against it. “Apparently, according to Elias, it wasn’t actually about me. Which is actually reassuring, given that the time it _was_ about me, the intent was to peel me and wear my skin in an evil ritual, and I had to be rescued by the embodiment of lies. This wasn’t as bad.”

“No kidding,” Basira said. “But it’s still traumatic.”

“Not really. Nothing like half of the things I’ve been through. Ny-Ålesund was worse.”

“Ny-Ålesund was rough,” Basira said. “That doesn’t make being kidnapped easy.”

Jon shrugged. “Maybe I’m getting used to all this weirdness, because it actually kind of was. I got hungry, of course, but I’m better now. Otherwise…”

“Right. Well, if you’re fine, then you’re fine. Daisy was asking after you. You should tell her you’re okay.”

“And Melanie?”

“Worried, but she wouldn’t want you to know. She’ll be in later.”

“Therapy session?”

“Yeah. Sure you won’t consider it?”

Jon laughed. “Kidnapping would be the least interesting issue I could bring up in a session.”

“All the more reason–”

“No. Thank you. I just need a bit of time and I’ll be back on my feet.”

For once in his life, Jon was right. He settled back into his role as half-blinded seer surprisingly quickly. Elias absolutely refused to expand on why The Lonely had taken him in the first place or what he had planned for Martin. Jon started compelling him, but Elias reminded him that actions have consequences, and he wouldn’t necessarily bear those consequences himself. Jon was sure there were some truths that would break Daisy or Basira, at least as much as Elias had broken Melanie. Which wasn’t completely. She was doing better.

“Basira wanted me to tell you that a bunch of files came for you.”

Jon looked up from a handwritten letter, faded with age and fragile enough that he was wearing gloves. “But you’re not telling me because you’re refusing to do your job, correct?”

Melanie rolled her eyes. “I’m doing a favour for a friend.”

“Thank you. I’ll try not to let anything evil come out of those files.”

Melanie snorted. “Good luck with that.” She hesitated. “Actually, you look busy here, I’ll just check them over and bring them in.”

“I’m sure they’re not actually evil files,” Jon said. “It was just a joke.”

“It would be funnier if we worked literally anywhere else.”

Jon couldn’t argue that. And, given the amount of evil books that they’d encountered, it was a fair point. “Be careful with them.”

“God, I hate it here,” Melanie said, closing the door behind her as she left.

Jon finished transcribing the letter as best he could, underlining the words he was uncertain of and deciding to come back later to recheck his work. Tim or Sasha could have looked it over for him, a trained second pair of eyes would have been useful, but no one who worked at the Archives now even had training in research. Also, Jon didn’t want to ask any of them to do anything. He couldn’t not do his job, it literally kept him alive. Probably. But he refused to make anyone else complicit, especially after Melanie pointed out to him that they were supporting evil, even if they weren’t doing anything evil themselves.

Melanie was just finishing with the new files as he exited his office. “Well, none of them ripped my throat out, so that’s good. There’s a theme, though.”

“Oh?” Jon asked. The last time someone had sent him ‘themed’ files, it had been about The Stranger, and it had been Elias trying to train him. He wasn’t really interested in playing that game again. Last time had nearly gotten him killed. Had, perhaps, killed the human Jonathan Sims.

“Extinction,” Melanie said, passing the folders to him. “The World Without Us.”

Jon frowned. “Isn’t that just The End?”

“Feels different.”

“Different how?”

Melanie shrugged. “The End is either, like, really personal or all-encompassing. It’s either your death or someone else’s, or it’s the end of everything. This thing, this Extinction, is the end of us, the end of humanity, but everything else just… carries on. It’s got an implicit… like, we’re not important. We think we are, but we’re not, and we’re arrogant and thoughtless and it’s our fault that we’re gone and everything else is just fine without us.”

Jon could feel the fear coming off Melanie as she spoke. She was right. It wasn’t a personal fear, but it was still potent. “This would be a new fear.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s valid.” Melanie snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I still hate all the monsters and secrets and lies around here, but… humans suck.”

“All the monsters you hate used to be human and made a choice to be… other. The choice was made while they… while we were human. And, I can assure you, we sucked then.”

Melanie gave Jon a little smile. “At least you’re trying now. So is Daisy. It looks like it hurts, so… don’t tell anyone, and I’ll deny it if you do, but I think it’s kind of impressive what you’re doing. Or not doing. In, like, a really pitiful way.”

“…thanks, Melanie.”

“I’m trying to be more open. It’s harder with you than other people for some reason.”

“Probably because I’m a complete prat.”

“Probably.”

Jon lifted the folder in a kind of salute. “Thanks for this. I’ll review it in my office.”

“Sure.”

The Extinction was… interesting. Adelard Dekker seemed obsessed with it, with proving it was real and emerging. Jon wasn’t entirely convinced with some of the statements, but Dekker had been working closely with Gertrude in dealing with The Stranger, and Jon was more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The Extinction seemed like an odd combination of several fears – sometimes The Spiral and The Lonely, sometimes The End or The Corruption. Sometimes Jon could see echoes of The Stranger, but Dekker had a point in that none of the statements seemed to fit nicely in any single category, and all of them had a quality to them that was… disquieting.

Change, Jon realized, reading through them again. Catastrophic change, on a level that affected the individual but in an impersonal, uncaring sort of way. More than that, it seemed to be affecting and changing the fears themselves.

He took the statements to Elias. “You know, if you want to talk about something you can just ask me to your office.”

“Can I? The last time I called you in for a discussion you’d gotten yourself kidnapped.” Elias took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his forehead before Jon could answer. “My apologies, that was unfair. Sincerely, though, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“These.” Jon slapped the folder on the desk in front of Elias. It made a small, pitiful sound. Jon wished it had been more impressive. “Statements about a new fear?”

Elias frowned and leafed through them briefly. “Ah. I see. These aren’t from me, Jon, but they should indeed be archived. That… is still your job, isn’t it?”

“I’d quit if I could,” Jon said, not for the first time. “If you didn’t leave them for me…”

“Gertrude used her position to hide pertinent information on more than one occasion. It’s possible that these were found in the Library, or even Artefact Storage, and eventually found their way to the Archives where they belong. Feel free to record them in your own time. I know you have plenty of other statements to go through.” Elias handed the folder back to Jon. “If that’s all…?”

“Is it real? The Extinction?”

“Perhaps. Honestly, probably. The evidence is circumstantial but there is enough of it to lend the theory significant weight.”

Jon clutched the folder to his chest. “Then what do we do about it?”

“Do? Nothing. Watch. The Institute’s mandate is gathering and compiling information, Jon. Stopping rituals was something of a hobby for Gertrude, but the one ritual you managed to stop nearly killed you. I’m not going to ask you to put yourself in danger to abort a nascent power when it’s not a threat to The Eye.” Elias shrugged. “If it were a threat, then yes, I would put you and your friends directly in the line of fire, even if only to slow it down. But it isn’t, and it will be… interesting to watch its emergence.”

“Interesting.”

Elias sighed. “You’ve asked for honesty. Well, here it is: I’m looking forward to this new variety in our master’s diet. Stopping it is not only not a priority for me, I’d actively work against it. Any other questions, Jon?”

“No,” Jon said. “I think that’s just about as much honesty as I can take from you in one day.”

“Then have a lovely rest of your day.”

Jon was struck by an odd impulse to check in one of the other offices after he left Elias’s. As usual with odd impulses whose origins he didn’t recognize, he ignored it and moved on.

Over the next three weeks he recorded The Extinction statements and, to his slight disgust, did find them more satisfying than regular statements. It was still like eating reheated leftovers, but of a more interesting meal. Less wilted salad, more full-bodied soup. Perhaps Elias had been right, and The Eye’s only interest in this new fear was its newness. Still, that didn’t mean Jon couldn’t do something about it, provided he figured out something to do. Gertrude hadn’t seemed interested in dealing with it, so he had minimal information or ideas from her, and Dekker was gone after investigating The Extinction and dying from The Corruption in a plague zone.

“Where would it come from?” Jon mused aloud, into a tape recorder that had helpfully turned itself on. “The rituals all happen in a specific place, obviously, but an emergence wouldn’t necessarily be in an isolated location. Pollution seems a likely source, but that rules out… Antarctica, really. Nuclear waste? Nuclear weapons? Was Dekker onto something with the plague idea? My major concern with The Extinction is that it seems active, whereas The End is endlessly patient. You can live with loneliness and illness and… and spiders, but The Extinction wants us dead. All of us. And then change, something to rise in our place, to fear it anew.” Jon snorted. “Zombie apocalypse? It sounds far-fetched, but…”

Something was happening in the Archive. Jon wasn’t sure how he knew but… well, he could guess where this knowledge had come from. It didn’t feel urgent, just a sense of wrongness, like eating a tart berry out of a batch of sweet ones. He turned off the recorder and went to see what was going on.

“–don’t know what to tell you,” Melanie was saying. “You’re not my boss and I don’t report to you anyway.”

“I understand. But you _are_ on the payroll, and signed a contract clearly outlining your duties. I have a copy here…”

Jon stared for a brief moment at the unexpected sight of Martin Blackwood looming over an unimpressed Melanie King who was leaning defiantly on her desk. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. It hadn’t been this.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, approaching them.

Melanie brightened when she saw him, which was a whole new world of weird. “Jon. This is Marvin, the new admin.”

“Martin,” Martin quietly corrected her.

“He’s here to give me an official warning regarding my poor productivity,” Melanie continued as if Martin hadn’t spoken. “It might go on my permanent record.”

“I see.” Jon turned to Martin. “It’s been a chronic issue. You should really just fire her.” Melanie snorted in amusement.

Martin looked pained. “I don’t really have the authority, Mr. Sims.”

“Recommend it to Elias,” Jon suggested.

Melanie punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t set up poor Malcolm like that.”

“It’s Martin.”

“Alright,” Jon said. “Officially, I have no complaints about Melanie’s work conduct or efficiency. If Elias has a problem with my team, he can address it with me directly.”

“Mr. Bouchard doesn’t have a problem,” Martin said. “I was just running some numbers and… you don’t really have a proper staff here do you? Two archival assistants, one who apparently does nothing and a former police officer who is, quite frankly, not qualified.”

“The Head Archivist doesn’t have any training in library sciences, either,” Jon said. He looked over at Melanie. “Georgie had to point that out, by the way. How very unqualified I was for the position.”

“Yeah. She’s good at bursting bubbles,” Melanie said fondly.

Martin cleared his throat. “I could get you an actual researcher as an assistant, at least.”

“Absolutely not,” Jon said, all humour draining from him in an instant at the thought of Elias having _another_ hostage. “The previous head archivist managed without any staff. I’m fine with two. Well, one-and-a-half.” Melanie punched him again.

“This isn’t…” Martin sighed. “I’ll document that, then. Ms King, I’m going to need some more information.”

“Alright,” Jon said. “Mr. Blackwood, when you’re done, if you have time, would you mind stepping into my office?”

“Of course, Mr. Sims.”

Jon had so many questions. Why was Martin working in admin for the Magnus Institute? How long had he been here? Had he been watching Jon, as he’d promised? Jon asked none of those questions when Martin entered his office, gently closing the door behind himself and standing there looking at Jon expectantly, as if Jon was supposed to take the lead now.

Jon approached him, taking in the sight of him, stopping just a little too close for professional comfort. “Did you miss me?”

“Like a drowning man misses breath,” Martin said, reaching out and pulling Jon to him.

Jon wasn’t sure how long they stood there, awkwardly kissing in the doorway of his office. Eventually, he felt himself backed into his desk and, when Martin lifted him up, he wrapped his legs around Martin’s thighs, pulling him close. Martin groaned and leaned forward, bending Jon back a little, to the point that he had to let go of Martin’s neck and brace himself as Martin mindlessly ground against him.

No. They weren’t doing this here, Jon decided. As gratifying as it was, Martin deserved better. He pushed Martin back as soon as he convinced his legs to unwind from around Martin’s hips, directing him towards a chair while he propped himself up on the desk, breathing hard. Martin sprawled out on the chair, breathing equally hard, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Jon said. “I think we might have gotten carried away.”

“I had no idea it would be like this,” Martin said. “Missing you was… exquisitely painful. It was almost too much sometimes. But seeing you again was…”

“Employee productivity?” Jon said wryly. “Honestly, Martin. Who even pretends to care about that?”

“Mr. Bouchard does,” Martin said. “So I’m not doing anything wrong by coming down here and addressing it.” He looked away. “I thought you were recording, but I probably hoped you’d come out and I could see you and talk to you and…”

“And kiss me senseless, yes,” Jon said. “I actually was recording, but I could sense you in the Archives. Not in the Institute, which is odd, but the moment you stepped into the Archives…”

The Institute is Mr. Bouchard’s,” Martin said. “The Archives are yours.”

“I’m not entirely sure how comfortable I am with that,” Jon said. “When did you start working here?”

“About a month ago. Peter decided that I should know my way around since I’m likely inheriting the Lukas board position, and Elias wanted me close to hand when he decided on his retribution for… you know…”

“My kidnapping.”

“Yup.”

He’d been here for a month. “Did you watch me, like you said you would?”

“Yeah. I followed you home a few times. Really wanted to knock on your door, but managed to talk myself out of it. It helped that I knew I could see you when you got into work the next day, but I missed hearing your voice and…” Martin blushed a little, but pushed on. “And the way you smelled.”

Jon found the whole thing disturbingly charming – the stalking, the desire, the restraint… the fact that Martin had missed his scent. If this was what being courted by a servant of The Lonely was like, then Jon found it suited him quite well. “Alright.” He settled on Martin’s lap, careful not to press too closely and tempt either of them with a promise he wouldn’t carry through with, and draped himself against his chest, burying his face in the crook of Martin’s neck and breathing in. “Hmm… I see what you mean.”

Martin’s arms wrapped around him, holding him delicately, as if he might break. Or as if Martin might break. He turned and nuzzled Jon’s hair and sighed, relaxing little by little. Jon smiled as he felt the press of Martin’s lips against the side of his head, and felt the slide of cloth as Martin gently untucked his shirt, pressing his hands against the skin of Jon’s back. Closeness and intimacy. He was careful not to dislodge Martin’s hands as he sat up, caging Martin’s face in his palms and kissing him. Martin’s hands tensed, pressing more firmly, trying to draw Jon forward, closer, but Jon resisted.

“When do you usually leave work?” Jon asked.

Martin seemed to need a moment to process the question. “Five or quarter after.”

“If I come up to your flat sometime between six and seven, will you let me in?”

Martin shivered. “I should say no.”

“You should. Having a hostage over is one thing, but having a guest…” Martin laughed, and Jon kissed him. “Will you let me in?”

“Yes.”

Jon grinned, fiercely victorious, and Martin groaned as Jon slipped off his lap. “Then we have jobs to get back to, don’t we?” He fixed Martin’s hair as best he could and let Martin rearrange his pants. Martin fixed his hair as he tucked his shirt back in. They stole a few more kisses and then Jon pushed Martin out of his office.

The rest of the afternoon was a wash, which was unfortunate as Jon didn’t really have the time to waste. That the Extinction was an imminent threat that could cause a great deal of damage was undebatable, but there was almost no documentation apart from Dekker’s primary research about emerging fear. Even the oldest documents, the ones that Smirke and Magnus had complied together did little other than debate whether The Flesh was a melding of The Hunt and The Slaughter or its own, new fear. Jon saw echoes of his own internal debate on The Extinction, that it seemed like several other powers merging together in odd ways. There was no doubt that The Flesh was its own thing, but its ascendance had apparently crept subtly through the more and more efficient farms of the industrial revolution.

Perhaps The Extinction was like that as well? A slow growth, more like a psychological thriller than a jump scare. Perhaps it had already manifested and was only growing, and might make its presence known through several small ways rather than a large, terrible birth. Still awful, but perhaps too diluted for any individual action to make any meaningful difference.

And now Jon was thinking about pollution again.

What was the point of knowledge without the ability to act on it, Jon thought, and was gifted a blinding headache in return. He groaned and pushed aside the papers on his desk, resting his head and closing his eyes. More blasphemy. The headache worsened.

Jon read a statement in contrition and felt better, but the afternoon had gone and it was coming up to five by the time he was done. He tidied up his desk and gathered his things to leave.

Daisy stopped him just as he was heading up the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“…home?” And he planned to. Eventually.

“Before six?” she said, incredulity heavy in her tone. Her grip on his wrist was weak and Jon knew he could break it, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if he did. “Where are you really going?”

“I have shopping to do first,” Jon said. “Not everything stays open past six. Including the Magnus Institute.”

“Bullshit,” Melanie said, joining Daisy. “You’re up to something.”

Basira joined them as well. None of them looked like they were going to believe anything Jon said. And, frankly, he wasn’t actually planning on telling them the truth.

“Nothing I’m doing has anything to do with our work, or the fears, or the end of the world,” Jon said.

“So you’re not going out to meet with any monsters or investigate any buildings or search for clues that were in the statements you haven’t let us read?”

“I’ve let you read whatever you want,” Jon protested, ignoring the question. “I’m not hiding anything from you. You’re free to go through my things if you don’t believe me.”

They did. Basira and Melanie went to his office, while Daisy searched through his bag. “You’re not hunting, are you?”

“No! I’m reading the statements and it’s not enough, but it will have to do. I know that.”

“I know you do,” Daisy said. “But when you act suspiciously, it gets us nervous. Not only about you, but for you.”

“Leaving half an hour past the end of my scheduled day is not acting suspiciously. It’s out of character, yes, but it’s a normal thing that normal people do.”

“Two reasons to be suspicious of you doing it,” Daisy said, but Jon was pretty sure she was mostly kidding. “You have a tendency to get hurt or to hurt other people when you do things on your own, Jon. You could have been trapped in the coffin with me with no one the wiser, when all it would have taken was a bit of patience and communication to at least inform the others. If you’re trying to protect us by keeping us in the dark, we’re not going to be pleased.”

Jon wasn’t pleased with that reminder. Getting out of the coffin and finding the room littered with tape recorders and statements had been a surprise, and finding out they owed their rescue to _Elias_ had been infuriating for both of them. “If I do anything, I’ll tell the three of you first.”

“I wasn’t implying we’d keep Elias informed,” Daisy said, sounded oddly insulted.

“His office is clean,” Melanie said. “Way more focused on The Extinction than even I thought, but nothing that looked suspicious.” Daisy looked past her at Basira who shrugged and nodded.

“Can I go?” Jon said.

Daisy hesitated for a moment, then handed him his bag. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” Jon said, then turned towards Melanie and Basira. “All of you. Let me know if anything weird happens.”

“Will do,” Basira promised. It almost sounded like a threat.

Jon hadn’t, technically, lied. He did go shopping, but it was at a store that definitely stayed open past six. The teller didn’t even blink as she ran through the condoms and lubricants, and Jon placed them in his bag while she rang him up. It was a good thing Daisy had inspected his bag before his shopping trip.

He got to Martin’s by half-past six and stood in front of his flat, filled with uncertainty. He placed his hand on the door and wished that he could Know that Martin was waiting for him, that he would open the door and smile at him, that he hadn’t gotten spooked and hidden, leaving Jon outside his flat, looking like a fool.

Well. Only one way to find out. He knocked.

He heard the faint sounds of someone moving, then banging into something, then moving again. Martin’s apartment didn’t have a lot to bang into, he must have been in the kitchen or on the other side of the couch. Jon wondered if he’d been cooking, and then the door was open and Martin was there, and he pulled Jon in, slammed the door behind him, and pressed him against it, kissing him desperately.

Jon dropped his bag and grabbed whatever part of Martin was most available, which turned out to be a handful of hair and an elbow. Martin moaned as Jon’s fingers rasped against his scalp and he tugged impatiently on Jon’s shirt before his hands dropped to the front of Jon’s pants, fumbling them open.

First time, in a bed, Jon reminded himself. It might be silly, but he’d focused on making Martin’s first time memorable. If he’d wanted a quickie, they could have had one in Jon’s office, or before Jon had officially been freed. They were so close, and Jon wasn’t about to break his promise to himself now.

He pushed Martin away, but couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, which led to Martin bowed forwards, hands still on Jon’s pants, lips still pressing against Jon’s, but his waist as far back as Jon’s reach would allow. It was adorable and awkward and Jon laughed as Martin whined at the lack of friction.

“We need to talk first,” Jon said, feeling a little stupid for doubting his welcome. Martin whined again and kissed him and Jon smiled and finally ducked out of Martin’s doorway, grabbing his bag and holding it in front of him like a shield. “Seriously, Martin. We need to review expectations and… and I brought some stuff, but maybe you have preferences, and…”

“Just Know,” Martin said, sounding almost frustrated. “We don’t have to talk, you can just Know.”

And Jon did. He knew exactly what Martin wanted, as if he’d always known. But Martin didn’t know about him.

“There’s a lot that I can do,” Jon said. “But there are some things that are more… difficult.”

Martin made an impatient noise. “Then give me what you can, and we’ll talk later. I… I just want you. Now. _Please_.”

“Alright,” Jon said. “Alright. Bedroom?” Martin nodded.

Martin’s bed was lovely and soft as Martin pressed Jon into it. They were still fully dressed, in shirts with buttons, and the whole thing was as frustrating as it was enticing. Martin just pulled Jon’s shirt up and ran his hands over Jon’s body, caressing whatever skin he could reach, while Jon fumbled with the top buttons of Martin’s shirt, eventually undoing enough of them that he could pull it up and over Martin’s head.

“I want you in me,” Jon said, and Martin whined and ground down against him. “That’s… ah, that’s going to take some preparation, so…”

“Later,” Martin said insistently. “I can’t wait that long, Jon.”

“Alright. Okay. Alright.” They were in Martin’s bed. They had the whole night ahead of them. There was no reason to hold back. Jon’s hands dropped to Martin’s trousers, getting them open and taking his cock out, not even bother with pulling them down. Martin was hot and hard in his hand, already tacky with precome, and Jon worked him mercilessly, meeting Martin’s impatience with his own.

Martin groaned and bowed his head, his body tensing, no longer moving, letting Jon do whatever he wanted. Jon decided to focus on finesse later and just tried to give Martin what he needed, jerking him off ruthlessly. “Come on, Martin. Don’t hold back now.”

“I can’t… you’re… I just…” Martin looked at Jon, and his face was filled with desperate need. He was so lovely. Jon reared up and kissed him and felt Martin spend in his hand.

He felt a momentary regret that he couldn’t see the entirety of Martin’s face as he came, just his eyes, wide and almost frightened. He could feel how slack Martin’s mouth was, open and soft. He imagined his cock slipping between those slack lips and hummed in pleasure at the thought. They had all night.

Martin collapsed in the aftermath, shuddering slightly in Jon’s arms as Jon kissed and caressed him. “Well,” Jon said, trying to lighten the mood. “That shirt’s ruined.”

Martin tensed. “I… I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been thinking about this all day and working myself up, and then you were there, you actually _showed up_ and you let me…”

“Shh…” Jon stroked his hair, trying not to laugh. “You’re fine, Martin.”

“I’m not,” Martin whined, burying his face in Jon’s neck. “I’m awful. I wanted to be good for you, but I just…”

“Martin,” Jon said, just sharply enough to cut through Martin’s self-recriminations. “Who do I serve?”

“…Beholding? The Eye?”

Jon kissed his hair. “Exactly. And what would someone who serves Beholding want?”

“Maybe the opportunity to get off before their partner prematurely ejaculates?” Martin muttered.

Jon laughed. “Sure, eventually. But mostly, I want to see you, to experience you, in every way. If you think we’re done with a half-hearted handjob, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I haven’t experienced _nearly_ enough of Martin Blackwood to be satisfied.” Martin relaxed, just a little. Jon kissed him again. “Also, you were lovely, coming apart in my arms.”

“You don’t have to seduce me,” Martin grumbled, but he sounded pleased. “You’re already in my bed.”

“I am.” Jon managed to make those two words sound smug enough that Martin actually laughed. “Now, are we getting properly naked and moving forward, or would you like to get dressed and grab something to eat?”

“Oh, shit,” Martin said, practically flinging himself off Jon. “The bread…” He grabbed at the front of his trousers, keeping them up as he raced to the kitchen.

He was adorable. Jon remembered being scared of him. Well, not scared, exactly, but angry and frustrated and wiling to harm himself for the chance to possibly get away from him. Fear subsumed into anger was one of Jon’s more useful traits, but it was still fear. It hadn’t fed The Lonely, though. If anything, fear of being trapped and helpless, without the target that Nicola had given him, fed The Hunt. And nothing had happened during the three days that Jon had been captured. What had been the point?

Martin didn’t know. Jon had Asked, and Martin hadn’t known. There was no reason to bring it up again and ruin the mood. Besides, it had actually ended up being a nice break, if somewhat draining. Not that his hunger had been Martin’s fault. The opposite, in fact, he’d kept offering to give Jon a statement…

Jon paused at that though, rolled it around his mind, considered it. He took off his semen-sticky shirt and went to the kitchen, where he was graced with the vision of Martin scraping blackened bits of crust off a slice of garlic bread.

“It’s just a little charred,” Martin said. “It’ll be fine.” He sounded slightly panicked.

“I’m sure it will,” Jon said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist, kissing between his shoulder blades. Martin gave a pleasant little shiver in his arms, but didn’t stop fixing the bread. “Why did you keep offering to give me your statement when you kidnapped me?”

Martin laughed. “Why, Mr. Sims. Are you trying to use your sexual wiles to get information out of me?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes. But if you really wanted to know, you could Compel me to tell you.”

“I don’t want to,” Jon said. “I’m just curious.”

Martin snorted. “You’re suspicious. And that’s fair.” He finally put the bread down and turned in Jon’s arms. “You’re not going to like the answer, though. It’s boring. I was told to keep you safe and as comfortable as possible, and you needed a statement. It really wasn’t anything personal, until it was.”

“Peter Lukas didn’t tell you to do it?”

“Not directly. He just said that The Archivist was not to be unduly harmed, and I was to see to your comfort in any way possible. He laughed when he said that, and told me that the last thing we needed was to make an enemy of Beholding.”

Jon frowned. “He said Beholding, not Elias?”

“They’re the same thing,” Martin said. Jon made a non-committal sound. “No, they are. You’re important, but not like Mr. Bouchard is. He’s like Mr. Fairchild. The closest anyone could come to lashing out at him would be to lash out at his people. At you.”

“…well. Thank you for that.”

“It’s just because you’re so new and so powerful. It’s not common for someone to have the kind of power and, honestly, control after only a few years. You don’t know the rules yet, and Mr. Bouchard has been… um… unclear about boundaries. That being said, we don’t exactly have monster meetings, so most of the people and… things… you’ve had trouble with don’t actually know how developed you are and how Mr. Bouchard feels about you.”

“Which is how?”

Martin shrugged. “Ambivalent. Alternatively protective and hands-off. It’s always a bit of a guess whether he’ll demand retribution or shrug his shoulders. It’s like he doesn’t really want to discourage anyone from toying with you, but he has a line that only he knows about that can’t be crossed. I’d say that his management of you has encouraged your growth, but Gertrude had at least as many encounters as you, and she was far more feared, but she didn’t have your potential.”

Jon wanted to ask more. What potential did he apparently have? How was Elias curating it, and for what? But it was unfair to Martin to expect him to tell Jon everything, and Jon honestly wasn’t sure Martin knew or was right about it. He had a rather biased view, and what he knew was what Elias showed him and what Peter Lukas felt he should know. A little bit of knowledge could be a starting point, or it could be a misdirection and a distraction. Bad information was worse than no information.

So he let it go. 

“How’s the bread?”

“Fine.” Martin reached back and pulled off a piece, placing it against Jon’s lips until Jon opened his mouth and let him pop it in. It was fine.

There was absolutely no reason to chase Martin’s fingers and taste them as well, but Jon preferred them to the bread. He hummed appreciatively and watched Martin’s nostrils flare, even as he pulled his fingers out.

“We have to eat.”

“Are you sure?” Jon said, but he took a step back, giving Martin room to breathe. “There are no other uses for our mouths you’d prefer?”

Martin groaned. “That was terrible. Set the table while I get everything else ready.”

Jon remembered where Martin kept the dishes and cutlery. To be fair, he remembered everything recently, but there was an odd sense of connection from opening drawers and cupboards and finding exactly what he needed in someone else’s house.

Martin set the food on the table and they ate. Jon spent most of the meal wishing it was over and wondering if he should bring up the obvious question. Probably not, but he’d never been able to help himself before, and he wasn’t about to start holding back now.

“Should we maybe have put on shirts before eating?”

Martin blushed. “I don’t know. I’m really not sure what normal is for something like this.”

Jon inclined his head, conceding the point. Besides, it wasn’t as if he minded looking at a shirtless Martin. “It’s fine, I was just…” he gestured vaguely at his neck and side, where the scars from Daisy’s attack and the worm holes were most visible. “I don’t want to be off-putting.”

“I like them,” Martin said stoutly. “They show that you’ve been through things and survived.”

Jon had only recently started to view his scars in that way. “I appreciate that, but you can’t expect me to believe you think they’re attractive.”

“You could always Ask what I think about them,” Martin said. His expression was challenging, and his chin was set stubbornly. Jon wanted to kiss it. “See what I _really_ think.”

“…no,” Jon said, after thinking it over for a moment. “No, I think I’ll just… not know. I’ll let you show me.”

Martin looked down at his plate, then back up at Jon. “Are you done?”

“I was done before I asked about the shirts.”

“Okay.” Martin stood up. “Okay. Um. In that case…” Jon crossed the table and grabbed Martin by his beltloops, pulling him roughly in for a kiss. Martin grabbed him with absolutely no hesitation, and the kiss turned desperate, near biting. Jon groaned, and he could feel Martin smile as he pulled away to rake his eyes over Jon’s body. “I believe you said you wanted me in you?”

They made their way to the bedroom, kissing and touching and fumbling at buttons and zippers. Martin kept asking Jon if it hurt as he brushed or pressed over scar tissue, and Jon kept telling him it was fine, it didn’t hurt, he just wanted Martin to touch him. Martin responded by stripping Jon down and pushing him back on the bed, kissing down his body as he peeled his trousers off. Jon buried his hands in Martin’s hair and moaned appreciatively as Martin grew bolder, tugging him up as soon as Jon was naked for more kisses. Martin hissed as Jon tugged his trousers off, roughly enough to aggravate his hardening cock.

“Sorry,” Jon said, giving Martin’s bare arse a soothing caress. “How’re you doing?”

“Good, great,” Martin said, capturing Jon’s lips in a warm kiss. “Not quite as urgent as before, but…”

Jon nodded. “Give me a second.” His bag had fallen somewhat close to the bed, but he still needed to wiggle a little under Martin to reach for it. Martin smoothed his hand over the patch of honeycombed scar tissue on Jon’s side and Jon shuddered.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s…” Rather than talk about it, Jon fished out what he needed and presented it to Martin. “I never asked what you preferred, so…”

Martin looked what Jon had in his hands, then up at him, then back at what he was holding. “Three brands of lube and four different condoms?”

“People have preferences,” Jon said, earnestly. “And allergies.”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” Martin said. “And I don’t have any strong preferences for lube. Um. Do we need condoms? I mean, you Know I’m a virgin…”

“I’m not.”

Martin shrugged. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me that you’re going to want condoms,” Jon said. “I mean, you’re sticking the end of your urinary tract into the end of my digestive tract. They’re supposed to be separate.”

“I… I don’t know if you’re sincerely that nerdy or if you’re making fun of me,” Martin said, but he sounded fond. “I will if you insist, but–”

“I insist,” Jon said, not wanting to draw out this conversation further. He handed the condoms to Martin and chose one of the lubricants at random, popping it open and slicking up his fingers before spreading his legs and pressing inside himself. It felt about how he’d expected it to feel. It wasn’t unpleasant.

Martin had been thoroughly distracted from his perusal of the condoms. Jon watched him watch Jon finger himself, and drank in the wide eyes and parted lips, the way his breathing got faster and shallower, even as Jon forced himself to take deep, slow breaths as a second finger joined the first. This was more of a stretch, more of a burn, and it drew a soft sound from Jon’s lips that he hadn’t intended to make. Martin groaned in response and grabbed one of the condoms at random, tearing the package open and rolling it on. He was openly staring now, transfixed by the movement of Jon’s fingers, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock as if to hold it back.

“Would you like to help?” Jon asked. The angle was somewhat awkward and his wrist was starting to feel a slight strain. Martin made a strangled noise, but reached out, pressing his index finger to Jon’s rim, adding the slightest pressure to the pull and push of Jon’s fingers. Jon slipped his fingers out and felt his anus twitch around nothing. Martin made another desperate noise and Jon slicked his fingers up with more lube and guided them to his entrance. “Go on,” he urged Martin gently.

Martin took a deep, shuddering breath. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said in a small voice. Jon nodded. “And if… if I zone out or something. If I don’t seem to be paying attention, or responding. If I _go away_. Do what you have to do to bring me back, even if it means hitting me. I’ll try not to, but…”

“I’ll keep you with me,” Jon said. “I promise. I want you here.” He pressed Martin’s fingers against himself again, more insistently. “With me.” Martin’s finger finally breached him and he let out a soft moan of encouragement. Martin slipped a second finger inside, and Jon lay back and watched as Martin focused on the task, his mouth and eyes wide open as they stared at where he was disappearing into Jon’s body, his gaze occasionally flickering to Jon’s face to check if everything was okay. Jon nodded as he felt a third finger stroke the skin stretched by the two still inside him and Martin swallowed hard and stretched Jon wide enough that the third finger fit alongside the other two. The stretch was too much, and Jon groaned, but he kept his eyes on Martin. He wanted to see everything.

“Enough,” Jon said finally, as Martin’s fingers pushed in past the second knuckle. “I’m ready, Martin.”

Martin looked stunned. “Oh. Right.” He seemed dazed, as if he’d forgotten what they were doing and why. “You sure?”

“Martin Blackwood, if you don’t replace your fingers with your prick within the next thirty seconds, so help me…”

“Right!” Martin pulled out much too quickly and Jon hissed. “Oh. Sorry. I… uh… I’ll just…” He lined his cock up and pressed in, incredibly slowly as if to make up for his haste. Jon could feel himself stretching to accommodate this larger, less flexible intrusion, and he grabbed at the sheets of the bed, arching his back to make the angle easier. “Oh,” Martin said, his voice faintly awed. “Oh god, Jon… you’re so…” His entire body trembled, and he bit his lower lip as he pressed in, slowly enough that Jon could feel it like a glacier moving over the frozen arctic. He would have preferred a more erotic metaphor, but the slow progression felt less erotic and more inexorable. Martin was as inevitable as he was slow.

“Is this… okay?” Martin asked breathlessly.

Jon nodded. “You’re doing fine. God, you’re beautiful.”

He was. His cheeks were flushed with exertion or embarrassment, his eyes wide and bright with amazement and awe. His lips, already pink and slightly swollen from kissing, had turned full and red as he’d worried them with his teeth, trying to hold back. His hair was just starting to stick to his skin, on his forehead and over his ears. Jon imagined the hair at the nape of his neck would be damp as well, would be heavier against his fingers as he clutched at it, if only he could leverage himself up to do so. But he couldn’t do anything but writhe on the end of Martin’s cock as it speared him through. He’d known what he was getting into, he just hadn’t expected it to be so _much_.

Martin’s lovely flush worked down his chest at Jon’s small compliment, and Jon wanted to shower him with endearments, just to see how far that blush would go. He parted his lips to say something else, and a combination of him tilting his hips just the right way and Martin leaning just a little too forward allowed Martin’s cock to push deeper inside him, at a sudden speed that took his breath away. Martin groaned with as much relief as pleasure, but immediately tried to lean back, his face filled with apologies.

Jon didn’t let him. He shot out a hand and was pleased to feel that Martin’s hair was indeed slightly damp and heavy against his fingers as he reached up to pull him down. “It’s good,” he assured him, breathless and desperate. He needed to keep Martin here. “Don’t stop.”

“I… uh…”

It was difficult, even with the leverage Jon had on Martin’s head, but he managed to pull himself up enough to kiss Martin’s protests away. “I told you I want you inside me,” he whispered against Martin’s lips and felt Martin shudder and thrust forward, almost unwillingly. “I meant it.” He fell back to the bed, adapting to the new angle, just letting himself feel how full he was. “Fuck me, Martin.”

The small whine that escaped Martin’s lips was all the warning Jon got before Martin took him up on his offer. He barely had enough time to grab the sheets again before Martin was moving, thrusting into him until he felt resistance, then pulling out almost all the way before slamming in again. Jon felt his entire body rock up the bed as Martin fucked deep enough in him that his thighs pushed against Jon’s, even when Jon tried to spread his legs wider to give him more room. Martin took what Jon gave him and just pressed in deeper, greedy for whatever he could get.

Jon gasped when Martin fell forward, hips still thrusting, pressing Jon’s legs even further apart as he barely caught himself on his arms, hovering just over Jon, so that Jon could feel the puffs of air from his lips as Martin’s breath echoed the staccato movements of his cock. Jon released the sheets in favour of clutching at Martin himself, one hand digging into the muscles of his back, the other threading through his hair. The kiss Martin pressed on him was sloppy and wet, uncoordinated as he panted through his exertions. His eyes were open, though, and he was staring at Jon, and Jon felt something more than simple human connection pass between them.

He wasn’t sure when the room faded into mist. The air became cool and slightly damp, but Martin was hot and heavy and everything Jon could feel in that moment. Jon could barely make out the sensation of the bed beneath himself, even as he knew there was something keeping him more or less in place as Martin pounded into him. His body tensed in fear, and Martin moaned and sped up, clearly getting close. Jon let himself be overwhelmed with the sensation of what Martin was doing to him, and of where he was, while his mind cheerfully catalogued everything that he was seeing and feeling. When Martin groaned and stilled, Jon wrapped him in his arms and kissed his face, almost regretful that this was over. Martin slumped against him, heavy and warm and lovely, and the room slowly re-emerged.

Martin blinked. “Did I…”

“I believe so,” Jon said. He cupped Martin’s face and kissed him soundly. “Not that I’m complaining, but is that likely to happen again?”

“I… don’t know. Peter never mentioned it, but then… he wouldn’t, would he?”

Jon groaned. “Do I need to make a list of people _not_ to reference while we’re having sex?”

“You asked,” Martin protested defensively. He seemed mollified when Jon kissed him again. “Does this count? Did I Mark you?”

Jon shrugged. “Doubtful. A wonderful as that was, it’s hardly as… dramatic as any Mark I’ve been given.”

“Oh. Um. Right. Was it?” Martin asked, wide-eyed and worried. “Wonderful?”

Jon kissed him again. “Absolutely.” Martin’s smile felt broad against his lips and he kissed him again. “In fact, I think that’s probably why it wouldn’t count. We may have been in The Lonely, but we were certainly not alone.”

Martin huffed a small laugh against his lips and kissed Jon as he slid out of him, tossing the used condom in the bedside bin. Jon made a slight noise of complaint as his body adjusted to not being filled, and a sigh of relief as they shifted together to cuddle more comfortably, facing each other on their sides. He felt Martin’s hands move over his body, caressing his back and flank and thigh and hip, and didn’t even think to move defensively as Martin slid his hand between them, pressing between Jon’s legs.

“…you’re not… did you…?”

“Ah. I apologize,” Jon said. “There was time to discuss this, I just got… distracted. I don’t… I’m not wired to… I need direct stimulation to achieve an erection, and even that is more trouble that it’s worth, most days.”

Martin looked confused. “But you said…”

“Yes. I knew that the amount of time and effort it would take to get me hard enough to fuck you wouldn’t be worth the wait. It’s… it’s something of a production, or has been, in the past. It’s been something of a trade-off, in that I am at least able to maintain an erection for a significant period of time as well.” Jon sighed. “Georgie and I made a pro/con list once, then decided it was easier to just snuggle.”

“Easier, sure, but.” Martin paused. “Wait. How long?”

“Over an hour,” Jon said. “ _With_ direct stimulation. I can finish faster on my own, but it’s never taken less than half an hour.”

Martin whistled, low and impressed. Jon felt himself blushing. “Wait,” Martin said. “So that over an hour was with a partner?” Jon nodded. “Who was, what, using you as a dildo with hands?” Jon felt his blush deepen, but just shrugged and nodded again. “Was it that Georgie person?”

“No,” Jon said. “I love her, but she doesn’t really have that kind of patience. She was very understanding, though! They both were. Neither break-up was because of that.”

“They _both_ were?” Martin demanded. “You’ve had _two_ sexual partners?”

“Yes?”

“You made it sound like you were so worldly and knowledgeable and you’ve only had _two_ partners.” Martin propped his head up on his hand, face bright and somewhat… predatory. “And Georgie was a girl. Were they both girls?” Jon nodded. “So you’ve never been with another guy. What we did… was that the first time…”

Martin’s incredulity was getting on Jon’s nerves. “I could have been on the receiving end of penetrative sex, even with a female partner,” he protested.

“Were you?”

“No, but…”

Martin snorted. “Honestly. ‘Receiving end of penetrative sex’? I should have guessed from the way you talked that you were just as clueless as I was.”

“That’s hardly–” Jon’s objection was cut off by Martin’s grinning kiss, as Martin rolled him onto his back and pinned his hands down on either side of his head. Jon went pliant under him, passively waiting for whatever Martin had planned.

“You like kissing,” Martin murmured, leaving Jon’s lips to trail kisses over his jaw. Jon nodded. “And watching me.”

Jon moaned. “Yes.”

Martin stopped and raised his head. “Is it a Beholding thing?”

“The watching? Probably.”

“No, the… the erectile dysfunction.”

Jon laughed. “No. It’s not medical either. It’s just me. The way I’m put together. It’s not that big a deal, Martin, I just don’t care about sex until I care about someone who cares about sex.”

Martin blinked. “You care about me?”

“Yes. Obviously. What did you think I was getting out of this?” Jon smiled and leaned up to capture Martin’s lips in a kiss that Martin pulled away from.

“I… I didn’t…” Martin sat back on his haunches and ran a hand through his hair. “I. Um. I think you should go?”

Jon frowned. He had never been great at relationships, but the sudden mood change clearly meant something had gone wrong. “Alright. I. Ah. I’ll see you at work?”

“Yeah. Shit.” Martin looked incredibly worried now. “Just don’t… don’t talk to me or approach me or make eye contact, okay?”

Of course. Jon felt like a fool. “I’ll avoid you as much as I can, I promise,” he said gently. He dressed with his back to Martin, giving him whatever time and privacy he needed to gather himself. “Let me know what you need from me, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Martin said in a small voice.

Jon sighed. “It’s okay. I just thought… I thought it didn’t matter how I felt. Whether I liked you or missed you. I thought the only thing that mattered was how you felt towards me.”

“I thought so too,” Martin said. “But I guess… I’ve never had anyone care for me before. I didn’t expect it to mean so much.”

“I’d take it back if I could,” Jon lied.

“Thanks,” Martin said. He didn’t walk Jon to the door or say anything as Jon left. The silence was foreboding and oppressive, and Jon just hoped Martin got what he needed out of it.


	3. Into The Lonely

Jon kept his word. Never one to spend much time out of the Archives in any case, he started sending Basira any time he needed anything from Artefact Storage or the Library. He started digging properly into The Extinction, making lists and graphs of the other powers and how they interacted. It took a few weeks, but he finally had a lead through The Slaughter, an American mercenary who played in sandboxes that contained nuclear weapons. India, Pakistan, Israel, Russia; somehow, he’d managed to involve himself with almost every conflict that could have led to nuclear armageddon in the past thirty years.

He hadn’t found him. He’d mentioned looking for a connection between The Extinction and the other powers and Daisy had, well, hunted this one down. She’d perked up a little after that, as if the hunt had invigorated her. Jon, working under the theory that this type of hunt could replace the murderous stalking that she’d done before, just as his paper statements replaced live ones, set her a series of tasks that involved her kind of investigating. It was the first time he’d directly delegated any significant task since returning from his coma.

Basira quietly thanked him, later.

Frank Palmer had just turned sixty-five and was based out of Texas. He hadn’t been there for more than a few months in the past three years, as his experience and age made him an attractive consultant for other mercenary groups. He had just finished overseeing a three-month-long training session in France, and had plans to move to Turkey for another in a few weeks. It was the perfect lull for Jon to find him and interrogate him.

His travel expenses were approved more efficiently than he’d expected. He also hadn’t expected the small lurch in his chest at seeing Martin’s signature on the approval line. He was still working at the Institute, then. Well. That was fine.

The trip to France went surprisingly well, with a few minor hitches, and the interview with Mister ( _Commander_ , if you will) Palmer was informative, if only in the negative. True, Commander Palmer had nearly killed him when he’d realized who Jon was, and it had taken some fast talking and assurances that Beholding wasn’t moving against The Slaughter before he calmed down. Jon was surprised at how dissimilar Palmer’s rage had been from Daisy’s more cold, focused fury. The targeted conclusion of The Hunt versus the lashing out of The Slaughter. Jon wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Palmer had willingly answered Jon’s questions when Jon explained that he was after another power. He didn’t care which, just that his own plans wouldn’t meet with The Eye’s interference. He told Jon that nuclear weapons were vestiges of an old, outdated military style, and that their eventual disarmament was very nearly inevitable. They only worked well, he explained, when wars were truly world-wide, and you could unleash them on countries separated by hundreds of miles of ocean or land. Now, wars were fought by countries that abutted each other, or nominally so. Proxy wars were in style, but you couldn’t toss nukes onto Iraq and claim that you were trying to help Kuwait when they would have to deal with the fall-out. Wars were subtler now, more drawn-out and fought, at least on the American side, more with drones than soldiers. He said the last with a sneer. Jon nodded, then asked what, to the best of his knowledge, was the risk of nuclear war.

“Slim to none,” Palmer had said. “It’s not in style anymore. There isn’t a country that could launch a nuke that wouldn’t have its people rise up in fury. Maybe North Korea, but that place is an exception to every rule. ‘Sprobably the one place we could nuke without any significant repercussions, too. But they don’t have the capacity to start a war like that – it’d be over in days, they’d be decimated, and the political fall-out would be messy, but no one’d be willing to ruin their economy over a country that made that first move. Not even China. Yeah, ‘snot really a thing.”

It was a relief to hear, from a being-a-living-human perspective, but a bit disappointing for The Archivist. “Thank you for your time.”

“Yeah, not like I had a lot of choice. You’ll leave me and mine alone, though.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course.” Jon opened his arms, showing off his small and scarred body. “I’m not exactly in a position to be making enemies such as yourself.”

Palmer just eyed him. “You do alright. Dunno if shooting you in the head would’ve even worked.”

Jon gave a small smile and a shrug. “Honestly, I’m not completely sure either.”

He returned to London with just enough time to make it to the Institute before his workday was technically over. He decided against it, and headed home instead. The amount of information he’d gotten from _Commander_ Palmer seemed to have taken the edge off his usual cravings, even if he hadn’t taken a formal statement. Perhaps Beholding had fed off of Jon’s fear as Palmer had outlined modern warfare. If so, Jon was more than happy to accept his master’s satisfaction as a reward for the occasionally stomach-turning stories Palmer had told.

He sent off a quick text to Daisy and Basira… and Melanie, assuring them he hadn’t been kidnapped, and took a leisurely evening to himself. Pollution and plague were still on his list, but it made little sense to delve into as a power as new as The Extinction was unlikely to reach for something as archaic as plague, and pollution was far too wide-spread and broad for Jon to actually _do_ anything about it. He was musing over this set-back, when his phone rang. It was Elias.

Jon quickly checked the time – it was just after six, late enough that it wasn’t quite appropriate for his boss to call him. Still, for Elias to actively reach out, it had to be something significant. He answered.

“Hello?”

“I thought I made it clear that you weren’t to interfere with The Extinction,” Elias said, in lieu of a greeting. “Record and investigate, Jon.”

Jon scoffed. “You’re not seriously still claiming that, after all that Gertrude did, after what happened with The Stranger and the circus…”

“I am. Threats must be dealt with, but an emerging power is not necessarily a threat.”

“It’s a power that wants to end humanity!”

“And replace it, yes, I’m aware. As for Gertrude, she may have been overzealous in her interference, and I certainly don’t want you following her example, for several reasons, but even she never deliberately antagonized a servant of The Slaughter on the off chance he might be willing to delay murdering you to answer some questions!” Elias’s voice rose as he ran out of breath, sounding exasperated and… worried?

“You approved the travel expenses,” Jon said, not sure how to take Elias’s concern. “I didn’t hide anything, I clearly outlined why I was leaving.”

“It was a minor expense, approved before it reached my desk,” Elias said, his voice smoothing back to its usual calmness. “I will be having a talk with Mr. Blackwood tomorrow, regarding that. But that isn’t the point, Jon. I’m pleased with your progress, and of course you want to stop a catastrophe you think you can see coming. But this isn’t a safe way to handle it, and you’re making foolish choices again. Do I have to order you not to put your life at risk in an attempt to stop the inevitable?”

“It’s not inevitable,” Jon protested. “Not definitively. There has to be something that can stop it.”

Elias sighed. “Of course. Just get every country to use clean energy and stop producing waste, and also spread out the population so that the density doesn’t breed disease, oh, and disarm every military. Simple.”

Jon sat heavily on his couch. He’d been coming to that conclusion himself. “I can’t just stand by…”

“Record and investigate,” Elias said, more gently. “Stop looking for clues and deal with what you already have. If you can find a _safe_ way to stop it, I promise I won’t interfere. But if you keep putting yourself at risk, I will take my irritation out on your staff. Is that clear?”

Jon scowled. He’d almost been ready to agree, even to apologize for worrying Elias, and he had to go remind Jon that he was a monster and a threat. “Of course, Elias. I’ll do exactly what you tell me, like I always do.”

Elias’s sigh was heavy, but seemed almost fond. “As long as you accept that your actions have consequences. Have a lovely evening, Jon.”

Jon hung up before he could tell Elias to get food poisoning or something. He was pretty sure Elias knew anyway.

It was hours later, rehashing the conversation in his mind, thinking about all the things he _could have_ said, when Jon realized he’d missed something important. Elias was going to talk to Martin tomorrow about the travel expenses. Elias already had a claim on Martin, and Martin was doubly in his power as his employee. And now Jon had put Martin in Elias’s crosshairs again. And he couldn’t do anything about it tomorrow, because that would entail seeing Martin again, and he’d promised…

It was after nine. A _completely_ inappropriate time for him to call his boss. He did anyway.

“Did you have something to add?” Elias asked, answering on the second ring.

“What are you going to do to Martin?”

There was a moment of silence, then a soft chuckle. “Interesting. You sound almost as possessive as you do for your own staff.”

Jon was glad Elias couldn’t see his blush, then worried that he could. “I don’t want anyone punished for what you perceive as _my_ mistakes.”

“I’d almost believe that from you, as self-sacrificing as you are, save that you called him ‘Martin’. He’s quite forgettable, and I hadn’t realized your paths had crossed at work.”

“I remember him from being tied up in his flat for three days,” Jon said, feeling somewhat like a rabbit chased into a corner. “And yes, he came down to the Archives to chide Melanie for being unproductive.”

Elias laughed. “Delightful. Neither of which explains why you’re defending him.”

“I’ve told you before, if you have a problem with me, take it up with me.”

“I assure you,” Elias said, voice warm and full of promise. “I will. But this is more of an administrative grievance, one that needs to be corrected to prevent future occurrences. Real-time feedback is an important managerial tool. You understand, don’t you, Jon?”

Jon grit his teeth. “Just tell me what you’re going to do to him.”

“That’s hardly professional. The discipline of my employees is hardly your concern, is it? Unless you’re claiming him in some capacity.”

Jon closed his eyes against a rush of _yes, do that, claim him_ that flowed over and into him. Martin wasn’t his. Martin didn’t want to be his. “No. I’m not. I just… don’t want him hurt because you felt I misstepped.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Elias said, but he sounded disappointed somehow. “It’s a bureaucratic error, one easily missed. The cost was minimal enough not to require me to sign off, but it’s still technically international travel, which would have needed my approval. I was planning on sending him a memo.”

_Shit_. “And what are you planning on doing now?”

“That is, as we have established, none of your business, Jon. Now, if you’d like to Compel an answer from me, by all means, come over and do so. You know where I live.”

Jon hadn’t. He did now. “Elias…”

“Jon, you have to stop making rash, hasty decisions. Calling me, without being willing to back up your rather empty threats, was one such decision. I’m starting to grow tired of reminding you that you’re not the only one who can bear the brunt of those decisions’ consequences. I feel like it might be time to stop reminding you and start demonstrating.”

“Don’t–”

“You can’t actually stop me, Jon.” Elias smiled, Jon could hear it. “My door is open if you decide to darken my doorstep. Otherwise, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Jon stared at his phone after Elias hung up. He redialled, knowing Elias wouldn’t pick up, but needing to check, just in case. He wasn’t wrong.

There was no way he was going to Elias’s tonight. Even if it hadn’t been such an obvious trap, Jon wasn’t sure it would resolve anything. Elias would just mock his powerlessness to his face. Jon still wasn’t sure he had the power to truly Compel Elias if he fought back. He wasn’t about to try at ten at night.

He called Martin. Martin didn’t answer.

Alright. Fine. He could deal with this tomorrow at work. He could… he’d figure something out. He called Martin again, just in case his phone was in that weird mode where it would only ring if it was called twice in a row. Martin didn’t answer.

He could send him an e-mail. No, he wouldn’t even read it. Not after Jon had called him _twice_ at ten at night, weeks after they’d hooked up and Martin had very clearly expressed a desire to be left Alone. He wished he could somehow let Martin know it wasn’t about that, it wasn’t about Jon’s hurt feelings or the fact that he missed him, or the way he worried about Martin all the time. He wasn’t calling because he was desperate to hear Martin’s voice, even though he was, no matter how much he lied to himself about it. He had a reason. A reason he had created himself by being a complete idiot, but a reason nonetheless.

An excuse? Jon hated that he knew himself to know that he might have subconsciously orchestrated the whole thing as a justification. Or maybe he was just that impulsive and foolish.

Either way, Martin was in real, actual danger. Not for accidentally approving an expense form, but because he’d placed himself in Elias’s power and Jon had made it clear that he was important to him. And Jon couldn’t do anything about it tonight… unless…

He found himself at Martin’s flat just before eleven, a half hour before the last tram back to his place left. He’d have to leave in twenty minutes to catch it. He was in his sweats and a t-shirt, nothing appropriate for the office, and hadn’t brought a change of clothes. God, he was bad at planning ahead.

He knocked on Martin’s door as calmly as he could, hoping the gentle knock would take some of the desperation out of him arriving in the middle of the night after calling twice, uninvited. “Martin?”

Nothing.

He tried again, a little more insistently. “Listen, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come if I’d thought I had any other choice. Just… open the door and hear me out? I’ll leave right away, I promise.”

Nothing.

He tried to calm his heartrate, and banged louder. “It’s important, I promise! I just need…” One of the other doors to one of the other flats opened. “Ah. Sorry for the noise.”

“You should go,” a woman in her fifties told him. She didn’t look upset, but she did look firm. “Whatever you think you need, now isn’t the time for it.”

“Ah. Yes. Normally I wouldn’t… I don’t… It’s important.”

“You said. It doesn’t seem that important to him. Tell him tomorrow. And go to sleep, you look like a wreck.”

“Right.” Jon looked at the door, as if willing it to open. It remained closed. He had ten minutes to get to the tram. “Right. Thanks.” He went back home.

He spent a few more hours fretting before falling into a fitful nightmare-filled sleep. He woke up in plenty of time to get to work early and headed straight for the Archives.

“No,” Melanie said, before he could even finish asking her. “I’m not doing any spooky Eye work.”

Jon sighed. “I just want to you send an official, urgent e-mail. It’s… it’s the opposite of spooky Eye work.”

“It’s for you, and you’re a spooky Eye-person, no offence.”

“…some taken. Look, if it helps, this is something I need to try to undercut Elias.”

Melanie snatched the paper out of Jon’s hand. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” She typed up the e-mail and sent it off. “Who’s Martin Blackwood?”

“Admin. He’s been here almost two months. Tried to write you up for productivity issues?”

Melanie snorted. “Good. Maybe he’ll get me fired.”

“No luck there,” Jon said, not really surprised she didn’t remember him. “Thanks, Melanie.”

“It was an _e-mail_ , Jon, not naming my firstborn after you.”

“Yeah. I’m also going to need you to let me know when he replies, and how.”

“Okay. Then: now, and ‘Tell him, no. Thank you. And to please stop bothering me.’ Wow. That’s a little harsh for an e-mail.”

Jon sighed. “I may have called him a few times last night and gone round his flat to talk to him.”

“Not surprised. Tim did say you had stalker tendencies.”

“At least he knows.” The message Jon had asked Melanie to send had simply warned Martin that Elias would be speaking with him about the travel expenses and offering Jon’s support. It didn’t really surprise him that Martin had declined.

What did surprise him was an e-mail he received a few minutes later, with a meeting time between Elias and Martin, scheduled for one. He had been blind cc’d on it, so Martin wouldn’t know. It was as clear an invitation as if it had been on gold-plated paper. He considered his options for a moment, then poked his head out of his office. “Melanie?”

She sighed and passed him her laptop. “Here. I know we’re not supposed to, security, blah blah blah. Just don’t sign me up for anything too inappropriate.”

Basira, who’d come in sometime between the e-mail and now, frowned. “There are other ways to share accounts… and he’s gone.” Jon closed the door behind himself, not particularly interested in whatever else they had to say about him. He _knew_ he was acting oddly. He just… didn’t want to hear about it.

“I… no, Jon knows you’re meeting with Elias at one,” Jon said aloud as he typed. “Elias bcc’d him. He would like to know how you’d like him to proceed.” There. That was good. Keeping Martin in control, making sure he had all the information.

Martin replied almost immediately. “Tell him to stay away? Martin, this is clearly more than a simple meeting. I can’t help you if you… Ugh.” Jon ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Elias is clearly playing at something. You can’t go in without some kind of support!” He sent the message before editing it, almost immediately regretting its confrontational tone.

“I can, stay out of this, Jon. How did he… I’m using Melanie’s account for a reason! Fine, Martin, have it your way. You’re in a bad position with Elias right now, and Peter’s not going to protect you. I feel responsible for this, you _have_ to let me help, somehow.” Jon drummed his fingers against the table waiting for a reply. And waiting. And waiting. Fine.

He nearly tossed the laptop at Melanie as he strode past, ignoring her protest. “Basira! I need you to send an e-mail for me.”

“Yeah, no. How about we talk this over first?” Basira said. She’d clearly been expecting this. There were hours until one. He had time. It didn’t feel like he had time. “Look, I’m not saying I won’t help, I’m just saying you’re going to have to explain with what and why.”

He hated that she sounded so reasonable. He explained the situation while Melanie went over the e-mails Jon had sent in her name. “You realize you sound crazy and paranoid, right?”

“It’s _Elias_ ,” Jon said.

Melanie and Basira shared a look and Basira shrugged. “True.”

“Why do you even care?” Melanie asked. “It’s not like Melvin Bassleton is Archives staff, and you’ve never really gone out of your way for other Institute staff before.”

“It’s Martin Blackwood! It’s on the screen in front of you,” Jon burst out, exasperated. Melanie looked surprised, then looked at the screen and inclined her head as if conceding the point. “And it’s… I’ve tried hard to have as few important people or things as I can, because that seems to put them at risk. I know the staff here, and of course I care about them, but I can’t let anything know I think they’re important, or they become targets. It’s too late for you three and, honestly, Daisy and Melanie were targeted before I even interfered. But I messed up and put a target on Martin and now I have to fix it.”

“Eh, bullshit,” Daisy said, having come in during Jon’s story. “How many friends did you have before you became a trauma-magnet?” Jon gaped at her, but didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought. You like being alone, Jon. It’s to protect _you._ And this… this is to protect you as well. You want to hide the fact that he’s important? Well, maybe calling him repeatedly and going over to his house wasn’t the best move. Certainly using someone else’s workplace e-mail to pester him looks like you’re invested. Even your Macklin has asked you to back off.”

“It’s Martin,” Jon said, but without any bluster. At least it was clear that it wasn’t a Melanie thing. “I just… I messed up, but everything I try to do to fix things seems to be making it worse. But it’s still messed-up, so I can’t leave it alone.”

“God, cut your losses, already,” Melanie said. “He’s not that into you.”

“Or he’s warning you off,” Basira said. “What?” she protested when the other two women looked at her. “I mean. Yeah. He’s clearly uninterested, Jon. Just back off.”

Of course. He was warning Jon off. He was worried _for_ Jon. Martin had shown a distinct lack of self-preservation, not that Jon would know anything about that, but he’d been nothing but careful about Jon’s safety. It made sense. “I… alright. I suppose I got carried away,” Jon said as casually as he could manage.

“Jon…” Basira said, her voice heavy with warning.

“No, you’re right. You’re all right,” Jon said. “It’s just… it’s Elias and he called me last night to threaten me and incidentally you three and also Martin and I just… I think I let him get to me.” All true. “I’m probably blowing this out of proportion. I’ll stop.” No one looked like they believed him. “Ah, Daisy, I know it hasn’t been long, but have you made any progress on those leads I sent you?”

It took most of the rest of the morning, but things eventually returned to normal. Daisy left, following one of Jon’s leads, and Melanie decided the day was nice enough to grab a long lunch. Basira looked up from her book, when, at a quarter to one, Jon very casually started up the stairs.

“Where’re you going?” she asked, the moment Jon’s foot hit the bottom stair.

“Just. Out. For a bit.”

Basira hummed softly and got up. “Really. Not even attempting to make up an excuse?”

“I’m a terrible liar, Basira, you know that.”

“That’s true.” She crossed her arms and looked at him. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I’m considering letting you go.”

That was a surprise. “What? Really? I though I’d have to try to talk my way out of it.”

“You’re not great at that, either. Alright, let me ask you this: Do you really think what’s-his-face is in actual danger from Elias?”

“Martin,” Jon said. “And yes. I really do.”

“Why?”

“He’s…” Jon was going to have to tell her. “Remember a couple months ago when I was kidnapped? And it was actually kind of okay?”

“I remember you _claiming_ it was kind of okay, but yes.”

“He was my kidnapper.” Jon waved his hands before Basira could say anything. “It really was fine. He was actually kind of great? Nice to talk to, very considerate.” He felt his pocket for the statement Martin had written for him. He’d carried it around with him everywhere since their ill-fated hook-up. “Elias has been holding that over his head since he started here, and I just gave him an excuse to snap that trap shut.”

Basira nodded. “Okay. So. You’re going to go upstairs to confront your evil boss in defence of the man who kidnapped and held you for three days and now apparently works here.”

“…I would like to, yes.”

“ _Jon_ ,” Basira said, sounding tired and exasperated and… kind of like she was going to say ‘yes’. “Alright. At least we know where you are if we need to stage a rescue.”

“Really?”

“Yes, go on,” Basira said, waiving him on. Jon gave her a quick smile of gratitude and climbed up the stairs.

He didn’t even pause at reception, where Rosie’s replacement had taken over during her lunch. He heard a mild protest but simply waved as he climbed the next staircase to the main offices.

Martin’s was empty. His computer was on, and Jon saw an e-mail from Elias, one that he hadn’t been copied on, that moved their meeting time to half-past noon. Martin had been in Elias’s office for, Jon checked the time, at least twenty minutes.

He burst into Elias’s office without knocking. Martin was sitting in front of Elias’s desk, while Elias was seated at it. It looked like a normal meeting, save that Elias’s entire face lit up when Jon burst in.

“Ah, Jon, you made it.”

Jon ignored him. “Martin. Are you alright?”

Martin looked pained. “Yes, I’m fine, Mr. Sims. This was supposed to be a _private_ meeting?”

“Nonsense, I would have filled Jon and his team in eventually in any case,” Elias said, gesturing to the free chair beside Martin. “Please, Jon, take a seat. Mr. Blackwood, if you would continue?”

“Don’t say anything you don’t want to say,” Jon said, absolutely _not_ taking a seat.

Martin laughed. “That’s not quite how this goes, Jon.” He winced, as if the intimate name physically pained him. “I… I knew what I was doing when I approved your request. I was the one who sent you all The Extinction files in the first place. Peter wanted it investigated. I’m a plant, Jon, a Lonely foothold into Beholding’s place of power, in a position to manipulate and steer you towards an answer Peter wants.”

“Oh,” Jon said. “Well. Thank you?”

“…what?”

“The Extinction is important, and Elias doesn’t care. If you hadn’t pointed me in that direction, I likely would have taken months to find it. So. Yeah. Thanks.”

Martin frowned. “You don’t get it. I… You’re doing Peter Lukas’s dirty work.”

“It fits the purview of my position,” Jon said. “Hell, if he was so interested, he could have come to me himself. Elias is always telling me to be more generous with our donors.”

Elias laughed.

“How are you not mad?” Martin demanded. “How are you _never_ mad? After everything I did, after how cruel I was… I’ve been using you this whole time!”

Jon was beginning to feel like he’d missed something. “You’ve never been cruel to me, Martin. You–” he shot a glance at Elias and decided not to mention that night. “You’ve given me tools to do my job, a job I’m still fairly invested in, even if I’m not a fan of the management.” Elias chuckled again. “I don’t… I’m not sure what I should be mad at you for.”

“I kidnapped you!” Martin said, leaping to his feet. He was every bit as large as Jon remembered, the memory sending a rush of something that was definitely not fear down his spine. “I was, just, _really_ selfish in bed, and then I kicked you out, right after you were just perfectly sweet to me. And then I ignored you yesterday, even though I _know_ you wouldn’t have come over or even called if it hadn’t been important, but you still tried to warn me, you still tried to protect me, even when I was an ass… just… _why_?”

“He’s in love with you,” Elias said, leaning back in his chair.

Martin turned from Elias to Jon, his eyes wide, pleading Jon to tell him that wasn’t true. Jon realized he couldn’t. He hadn’t even really been aware of it but… “I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to…”

Martin’s eyes had been a stormy grey for the entire time (four days, really) that Jon had known him. They weren’t grey now. They were brown.

“Ah, Martin,” a voice intoned from the corner, as the room got dimmer and colder. “I’m not angry, lad, I’m just… disappointed.” Peter Lukas stepped out from nowhere and Jon shivered as he approached. “It’s a delicate balance, and you’ve never been one for delicacy, have you?”

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Martin said, voice strangely strong. He looked at Jon and smiled. “I suppose I haven’t.” He took a step back, away from Jon and towards Peter. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“He’s not mine to hurt,” Peter said, clasping a large hand on Martin’s shoulder. “But you are.”

Jon took a step forward, and felt a cold, sharp wind push him back. “Don’t–”

Peter gave him a faintly pitting, amused look and he and Martin vanished.

The room was still cold, still foggy. Elias templed his fingers and rested his chin on his thumbs. “An interesting development. What will you do now, Jon?”

“I hate you.”

“I’m aware. It’s never really mattered to me. I’d offer my help, but…”

“No. Thank you.” Jon stepped forward and remembered the feel of The Lonely, for the brief, beautiful moments he had been within it. He felt it wash over him, cold and uncaring and completely without Martin. It was intolerable, where before it had been gentle. Jon shivered and called out for Martin.

“He’s not here,” Peter Lukas said, stepping out of the fog. “Or rather, he is, but he’s not. You’re in my domain, Archivist, and I control a great deal here.”

“Not everything,” Jon said. “He’s Lonely too. He also has some power here.”

“He did,” Peter agreed amiably. “Before you stole it from him.” He chuckled at Jon’s expression. “Oh, don’t be like that. I know you didn’t mean to. Youth are so impetuous these days. He had so much potential. It’s really such a waste. But he’ll serve Forsaken in his own way, in the end.”

“No. I can… I can find him. I can get him out.”

Peter laughed. “Assuming he wants to leave. No, Martin has always been somewhat disappointed that he could never serve our master directly. He must be overwhelmed at the chance. To finally be able give himself to The Lonely, to have something… some _one_ to miss. He’d tried for years, you know. Never very hard, always worried about reciprocation. He’d fixate on someone and try to fall in love. Always someone unachievable, always someone who never looked back at him. It never worked. I’m not sure how it worked with you.”

“I looked back,” Jon said. “Where is he?”

“He’s here,” Peter said. “Or as good as. The Lonely’s always had layers, and slipping through them isn’t going to be as simple as entering its embrace, Archivist.”

Jon felt the emptiness, the cold, seep into him. He wasn’t going to find Martin, of course he wasn’t. Martin didn’t want to be found, didn’t want to be his, and Jon… Jon didn’t really know him. Four days and several dozen kisses didn’t make a relationship. He’d fallen in love with a fiction, with something that wasn’t real. Not Martin. He didn’t even know Martin.

He could.

Jon reached into his pocked and removed four sheets of paper, ripped out of a medium-quality notebook, written with a medium-quality pen.

“Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding indoctrination into The Lonely,” he said, looking Peter in the eye. “Statement begins.”

_No one really knows how or why Avatars come about. If anyone did, it would be Elias Bouchard, and he was the one who told me it wasn’t known. Simon Fairchild thinks there’s a ‘dream-like logic’ to it, like things just seem to feel right, to fit. I can see why Mr. Bouchard’s not a fan of that – it’s one of those answers that isn’t really an answer, isn’t it? Something trite and superficial without imparting any new knowledge._

_Peter knows. Specifically about The Lonely. It’s a Lukas thing, I think. Simon’s been around for centuries, but he wasn’t born a servant of The Void, he chose it. Peter never had a choice. You mentioned Agnes Montague. She’s probably the closest thing to the Lukas legacy I can think of. Peter was perfectly formed for The Lonely – born, bred, raised, indoctrinated. It gives him an advantage over other Avatars, I think. Or maybe Simon’s right and this is all the illogical reasoning of unknowable powers. Either way, Peter can sense The Lonely in other people._

_I was seventeen when he found me. I’d been claiming to be nineteen, looking for a job after my gap year. That was what employers wanted, wasn’t it? A bit of worldly experience. I thought it might make me look more… middle-class. Less desperate._ Nothing _made me look less desperate. I filled out forms on-line, lying about my skills, I interviewed in person, and got the most pitying looks. I wasn’t fooling anyone, but I couldn’t stop. My mother’s disability wasn’t enough for us to live on, especially with her expenses, and I couldn’t keep going to food banks. They were starting to recognise me, and I could see them wondering what someone like me was doing there. I stopped interviewing for jobs that would require a commute, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford it. No one was interested in hiring me._

_Peter found me walking home after a particularly trying day. He must have been in a good mood, because I’ve seen him with people in similar circumstances, and they all end up as… snacks. Used and forgotten. There was no one else on the street, no traffic or pedestrians, and most of the shops were closed up. It would have been no trouble at all for him to swallow me up._

_Instead, he approached me. Offered me a job. I asked what he did, and he said he was a ship’s captain. Now, I was_ desperate _, but I couldn’t leave my mother for however long a ship’s voyage would be, so I burst into tears. The exact thing I wanted,_ needed _, and I would have to decline._

_Peter laughed at me._

_It wasn’t… I wish it_ had _been cruel. It was cheerful, like I’d told a good joke. He can be absolutely charming when he wants to be. It’s a trap._

_He explained that he wanted a contact in London, to do the “little things” that needed to be done while he was at sea. He gave me a business card and told me to contact the number on it. It wasn’t his number, of course. When I called, the person on the other end asked what I wanted, and I told her Peter Lukas had offered me a job. She sighed and asked again, what did I want? It took a few back-and-forths, but I eventually clued in and told her that my mother needed medical help. The next day, a nurse and an occupational therapist visited and did a home assessment. Suddenly my mother had a physiotherapist and several new pieces of medical equipment I wouldn’t have even thought to ask for, and we had food and new clothes that were delivered to us. This all happened within a week._

_I’ve never drawn a salary. I have almost no money. Everything I need is provided for by the Lukas family._

_My first job for Peter was delivering something to The Web. I had no idea what was going on, and I’m pretty sure everyone was making fun of me, but it wasn’t that bad. You know I like spiders, and I actually think that counts for something with them. Then, nothing. Mum’s physiotherapy was still being covered, food was still being delivered, but I wasn’t asked to do anything. If it hadn’t been summer, I might have tried to go back to school._

_Then Peter came back. He came to my house. My mother took one look at him and jumped to the same conclusion you did about what Peter wanted from me. He asked her if she was happy here, and she said she had no interest in living under the same roof as a… well, it was in Polish, and it doesn’t translate. Peter got the gist, and offered to pay for her to move into a home. And just like that, she was gone and I got a call a few weeks later about moving arrangements to a flat that Peter found more convenient. I honestly thought at that point that maybe my mum was right, that Peter was willing to pay for the upkeep of a gawky barely-legal rentboy. I decided I didn’t care. The new flat was nicer, and I was given accounts with several local stores so I could order my own food and supplies delivered directly._

_I was, effectively, alone. Isolated through circumstances and choice. I’d never really had friends, and even the minimal social interaction of shopping had been removed. I called my mother weekly, but she never wanted to hear from me. And that was where Peter let me marinate._

_I got the odd job to do, mostly to do with computers, never dealing directly with people. The few phone calls I had to make were to people every bit as disinterested as I was in talking. They were brief, to the point, impersonal. Two years of this, and one day Peter came to get me and told me he was introducing me to his family._

_There are a_ lot _of Lukases. Standing in a room full of them, though, still feels empty. No one made small talk. Peter introduced me to his siblings, his father, his mother, and other relatives including his nephew, Evan. I remember Evan because was the only one whose hand was warm. He leaned in and told me to get away if I could. He seemed… nice. Peter’s mother was_ not _nice. She somehow managed to ignore me and glare at me at the same time for the entire night. At the end of the evening, Peter offered to take me home, and she said: “He has your eyes.”_

_And that was it. I was in._

_I told you about the first time Peter took me into The Lonely. I never let go of his hand. The second time, he shoved me away and vanished. When he came and got me, it had been a week or so, and I was ravenous when I came out. He asked if I was cold, and I said I wasn’t. He looked pleased. The third time, he left me there._

_Getting out of The Lonely is simple. Just think of someone you love, think of their face, their voice, their scent. Remember_ everything _about them, and hold on to that memory with all your might._

_I knew I couldn’t get out on my own. Peter would come for me. So I waited. And waited._

_Eventually, I figure he’d just… forgot. Like I was a book misplaced on a park bench and left. That seemed right, to be forgotten. The ultimate rejection, being refused even as a memory. So I was in The Lonely now. That was fine. I settled in, and waited for the despair to take me._

_It never did. When colour returned to the world, when I heard the sound of other people and noticed the sunlight moving, I realized I’d gotten out. I felt a pang of… loss. The world seemed unnecessarily noisy and bright. Everything smelled, in no small part because all the food in my fridge had rotted. I bagged up the garbage and hesitated at my door. I didn’t want to go out there. I didn’t want to see people and have to do that polite smiling thing and make eye contact and maybe even talk to them. I wanted my peace back._

_I found out my mother had died a few weeks previously when I checked my phone messages. I tried to feel guilty for missing that, but I was mostly just relieved I wouldn’t have to attend the funeral she’d certainly already had. I waited in my flat until three in the morning, then threw out the garbage and returned, spending the next two days figuring out how to go back. I did. That was where Peter found me._

_He was gentle about it. Told me The Lonely didn’t want me, it wanted my fear, and I wasn’t afraid. I thought that meant I’d failed, that he would reject me too, but he showed me how to compensate by taking others. I had nothing to miss, and no one to miss me, so I wasn’t an acceptable sacrifice to The Lonely. But I could be a sacrificer. I don’t know if that’s a word. Good luck with that._

_He started taking me to meet people. Mr. Bouchard and Mr. Fairchild were his most common visitors, but agents of The Web and the odd things that served The Stranger came and went, never the same one twice. He met with Mr. Rayner a few times, but they didn’t get on. Mr. Rayner ~~is~~ was a bit of a zealot, and Peter didn’t really have the energy to deal with that._

_Mr. Fairchild had something of a protégé himself, Mike Crew. I liked Mike, and I think he liked me. He took me skydiving once, and we spent hours talking about the differences and interconnectivity of The Void and The Lonely. I told him that it didn’t count as being alone if I was with him, and he offered to unhook me from his parachute and let me fall by myself. I_ think _he liked me. We landed maybe five or six minutes later, according to my watch. Peter was waiting for us._

_He didn’t even look at me. He just told Mike never to see or contact me again. Mike looked between us and shrugged and agreed. I haven’t seen or heard from him since._

_I’ve taken maybe… twenty people into The Lonely in the past decade. Several of them more than once. I don’t think any of them ended up at your institute, they weren’t really… talkers. I tend to choose people who suffer silently, who hide their pain or who don’t have people in their lives who will care. I can’t sense them like Peter does, but there are tells. I hate to say it, it sounds creepy, but they’re mostly women. I think that’s society’s fault, not mine._

_I knew… I’ve always known that I’m hurting other people. I have asked Peter if The Lonely could be satisfied with me if I started fearing it again. He just said that no one’s ever been satisfied with just me, why would The Lonely be the first? One of my more frequent victims is a nurse. She’s lost two jobs because of weeks of absences as I leave her wandering through empty, dimly-lit hospital corridors. Now I just take her when she’s on vacation. She hasn’t really had a break in four years. She’s not dead, I’ve never abandoned anyone in The Lonely like Peter does, but I can’t say I haven’t ruined her life._

_It’s admirable, what you’re doing. What you’re_ trying _to do. You’ll fail, of course, or weaken enough that something will kill you. It won’t be me. I don’t do that. Although, you would be_ safe _if I kept you. I bet you’d hate it. It’s a temptation._

_I wish I knew what we were. We’re not human, not really, not anymore. We’re also not quite the same. I can see how each fear leaves its mark on its servants. Or maybe, how each servant’s personality lends itself to their fear. You’re not like Mr. Bouchard, though, any more than I’m like Peter. I want what Peter has, his connections without attachment. No, it’s more… I want to want what Peter has. What I actually want is you. I haven’t been afraid of being alone since my mother died. I’m not afraid of it now. But I could be. I could want you so badly that I could fear being apart from you._

_And you’ll remember me. You promised._

Jon felt the last word ring out in desperate loneliness, feeding not only his master, but Forsaken itself. Two tendrils of power, one leading out, back to the Institute. The other leading…

“Martin.” 

Jon turned and ran, following the faint sensation of fear and power, down the beach that wasn’t a beach, up a hill that wasn’t a hill, until he approached a look-out that really only had enough room for one person to sit.

Jon was fairly small. He squeezed in.

“Oh,” Martin said, his voice much fainter, more echo-y than Peter’s. “You’re here.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Jon’s entire left side was pressed against Martin. He could feel the pressure of his body, but no heat. Martin was as cold as The Lonely. “I didn’t know… anything, really.” He huffed a laugh. “I didn’t know I was falling in love with you, didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know what I was doing to you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wouldn’t have affected me if I didn’t let it.”

“Still. You should have been given a choice.” 

Martin grunted in something like agreement, and they sat in silence for a long while.

“If I…” Jon looked away, over the empty sea that wasn’t a sea. “If I leave you alone. _Truly_ alone. If I never contact you again, never think about you, do my best to forget you and stop… stop missing you. Would that be enough? Could you recover?”

Martin shrugged. “Maybe. I think… I mean, I loved my mum at one point, but I was still drawn to The Lonely then. If I lose you, like I lost her… maybe.”

“Alright. We’ll get out of here and talk with Peter and Elias, and we’ll make whatever arrangements you need.”

“That easy, huh?”

Jon clenched his fists. “Maybe not easy, but if that’s what you need, that’s what I’ll give you.”

Martin shook his head, smiling his small smile. “And you think that won’t make it worse? Knowing that you’d do anything for me, even give me up… you think that won’t make me love you more?”

The idea that Martin loved him back hadn’t even occurred to Jon. But of course he did. One-sided pining was like catnip for The Lonely, requited love was its bane. “Then what can I do?”

Martin shrugged again, like it wasn’t his problem.

Jon gave up. If leaving Martin alone wouldn’t help, then at least he could hold Martin’s hand, thread their fingers together, and lean on Martin’s shoulder. “Come back with me. We’ll figure something out.”

“I can’t. This is… this _was_ all I was good for. I miss its embrace, but it’s not that bad, being consumed by it. It’s peaceful, gentle. It takes in wisps, not chunks. I can feed it for weeks on what we could have been, and then I’ll finally be gone.”

“I don’t want you to go. I’m not selfish enough to need you with me,” Jon lied, “but I’d rather live in a world that has you, even at a distance, than one that doesn’t.”

“Will you miss me, Jon?”

“Yes,” Jon said, and then his voice hardened. “But that won’t feed The Lonely. I’m not for Forsaken, I am Beholding. And I’m done guessing, Martin. **What do you want?** ”

Martin finally turned to him, his eyes still a vibrant brown, and he opened his mouth and began to speak.

“I suppose by this point, we’re playing double or nothing with your Archivist,” Peter said, his voice muffled and distant, but audible.

“No. Whether Mr. Blackwood is consumed or not, Jon will return,” Elias’s voice was softer, but somehow carried better.

Peter snorted. “Nah, your boy’s Lonely as hell, Elias. No wonder he latched onto poor Martin. I’ve never consumed another high-ranking servant before, at least not one as powerful as your Archivist. It’d be interesting, I think.”

“Whereas we’ve had more than our fair share of statements from various servants of various powers. You could add yours to them.”

“Don’t think so. I prefer my dreams the way they are.”

“Of course. As you like.”

Jon could see them now, shadows of people, less substantial even than silhouettes. He plodded towards them, ignoring the fog that thickened around his ankles and tried to drag him back.

“Suppose he’s Marked now.”

“Yes. I suppose he is.” Elias sounded smug. “If he returns, he’ll be ready.”

“Then we can settle our bet.”

It was getting harder to move with every step. Jon hated it, but he focused on Elias, using their connection to strengthen his resolve.

Elias smiled, and Jon could see it. “I look forward to it, Peter.”

Jon was so close. Only a few more steps, just past the last ring of fog, and he’d be out. He felt more than heard the gasp from behind him and the sensation of a hand pulling away from his. He stopped and held on tighter. “Martin?”

“Peter is there,” Martin said, and his voice held a fear that was useless to The Lonely. “He’s… he’s going to be…”

“I don’t care,” Jon said. “I love you and I’m going to protect you, and everything else will just magically fall into place because you deserve nice things.”

Martin blinked and turned away from Peter Lukas and looked at Jon. A small smile blossomed on his face. “Yeah. Okay. Alright.” He gripped Jon’s hand and let Jon pull them through the last of the fog, back into Elias’s office.

“Well done,” Elias said cheerfully, toasting them with a tumbler of something a deep amber colour.

Peter sighed. “Honestly, Martin. Couldn’t you at least have _tried_?”

“Don’t talk to him.” Jon had meant for it to be forceful, a protective snarl. He was too tired to do it justice, however, and it came out petulant.

Peter, naturally, ignored him. “You barely know each other. Would you truly give up the peace and protection of Forsaken to take up with this… huh. I don’t even know. Are you even a person anymore, Jonathan Sims?” Jon flinched at the unexpected attack.

Martin sighed. “I’m sorry, Peter. I don’t know. I didn’t choose this, I tried not to… I’m sorry.” He held Jon’s hand tightly, and Jon tried not to be hurt by how much Martin hadn’t wanted to fall in love with him.

“Never mind,” Elias said. “I’m sure you two will be happy together, until you’re not.” He leaned forward. “Onto more salient points. Peter, if you would?”

“Of course.” Peter turned fully to Jon, as if Martin wasn’t even present. “I would like to use you to find out more about The Extinction.”

“I know,” Jon said. “Martin mentioned it.”

Peter shrugged that off. “Martin knows very little about a great many things. It’s his most attractive trait. He doesn’t know about The Panopticon.”

Jon was tired and he wanted to get Martin out of there. “That makes two of us.”

“Naturally. It’s a well-kept secret, and particularly well-kept from you. There’s a few statements that reference it, but Elias has been naughty and hidden them from you, hasn’t he?”

“I’ve hidden a lot of things from Jon,” Elias said easily. “It’s one of the cornerstones of our relationship.” Jon mustered up enough energy to glare at him.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, well. It sits at the center of Milbank Prison, a seat of power for The Eye. From there you can see… everything.”

Jon caught up. “You want me to use it to find out where The Extinction is manifesting.”

“Exactly! The price ended up being quite high, but there’s a decent chance that Elias will lose you, so it evens out.”

“Lose me? I… what does that mean?”

Elias shrugged. “It’s one thing to take a seat of power, quite another to relinquish it. Can you honestly tell me that you would walk away from the ability to safely, comfortably, know _everything_ , Jon?”

“I…”

“You are fully realized, Archivist,” Elias said, and Jon realized with a start that that was the first time Elias had outright referred to him that way. “A repository of knowledge and experiences. There is no one more suited to the seat of Beholding within the Panopticon, not even me.” He placed his glass down and approached Jon with exaggeratedly careful steps. He was drunk, Jon realized, just as Elias placed a hand on his cheek, his thumb resting just under Jon’s eye. “The Watcher’s Crown, the Panopticon, the Archive. All meant for you, Jon. Will you take them up?”

“No,” Martin said, and Jon felt the warm line of his body as he pressed against Jon’s back. “Thank you, but no. He won’t.”

It was like a spell breaking. Jon shook his head and pulled away from Elias’s touch. “No, I… no.” He shuddered, his mouth still wanting to form the ‘yes’ that he’d almost said. “I’m more than willing to help figure out The Extinction the usual ways, but I’m not becoming a tool for The Eye any more than I already am.”

Elias laughed. “There you go, Peter. You are, as agreed upon, more than welcome to my Archivist’s assistance, of course. But if he refuses his place, there’s nothing more I can offer.”

Peter scowled, not at Elias or Jon, but at Martin. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“I think you’ll find it was. I can’t actually barter away the free will of my employees.” Elias chuckled to himself, as if at a joke only he understood. “Of course, a refusal now isn’t a refusal forever, and the temptation will always be there. Besides, as you said, they barely know each other. You may yet have your Martin returned to you, while my Archivist might possibly at some point realize what his purpose is, and willingly fulfil it. Time is on our side.”

“It might not be–”

“The first statement we have relating to The Extinction comes from the mid-nineteenth century,” Jon said. “A few days to recover from The Lonely and consider our options isn’t going to make any difference.”

Peter didn’t look pleased. “It might,” he said finally, arms crossed over his chest, but he didn’t give any other protests.

Jon sighed. “Shall we go back to mine?” he asked Martin. Martin looked up at Peter, frightened and questioning.

Peter sighed. “Your flat was bought outright and the deed’s in your name, Martin. I’m not going to kick you out for falling for the wrong boy. I’m not _that_ kind of monster.”

“Oh,” Martin said, his voice small. “Thank you.”

“You’ve served Forsaken well. And Elias is right, you might yet again.” Peter’s voice turned cruel and Martin flinched, bowing his head.

Jon frowned. “His ties are truly severed, then.” He looked to Elias. “Is it possible to sever ties with Beholding?”

Elias laughed. “Of course. Not for you, perhaps, as it might be the only thing keeping you alive, but your assistants? Yes, Jon. There is a way to leave. It’s even quite simple. And I’m not going to tell you how.”

That was actually more than Jon had expected. “I see. Thank you. We should…” He squeezed Martin’s hands. “We should be leaving now.”

“It’s three in the morning,” Peter said, laughing at Jon’s surprise. “Good luck finding a cab at this hour.”

“It’ll be fine,” Martin said softly. “C’mon, Jon. Let’s go.”

The air was chill and damp, but alive like the air in The Lonely wasn’t. Jon pressed close to Martin as they walked, mentally exhausted, but physically fine. They hadn’t bothered returning to the Archives or Martin’s office to get their coats, and wouldn’t have been able to put them on without letting go of each other’s hands, so they walked quickly and relied on each other’s body warmth to stave off the chill.

Jon remembered to text Basira and the others that he was alive and well and would see them tomorrow. He didn’t get a reply, which was oddly reassuring and concerning at the same time. Had any of them been awake at this hour, he would worry for them, but they’d known where he had gone and why. Had Elias lied to them and sent them away, or something worse? No way to tell until tomorrow.

Well. Later today.

He fretted long enough that he missed the first few clues about where they were going, until they rounded a turn and started walking down a street Jon had only taken twice before in his life – walking away from his captivity, and walking towards an opportunity. It made sense. Martin’s flat was closer and, apparently, still his. With the light traffic and quick pace, they made it there well before four.

Martin unlocked his door with his left hand, his right still entwined with Jon’s. They made their way through the living room without turning any lights on, closing the bedroom door behind them. The room was dim, but not dark, with the lights of London streaming through the window. They wriggled, one handed, out of their trousers and almost out of their shirts, the sleeves catching on their joined hands. Jon looked down at the rumpled cloth dangling from their arms. They’d have to let go, wouldn’t they? And it was fine now. They were safe. They could just… let go.

Martin kissed him and pushed him onto the bed, their hands still locked. Jon went willingly, letting Martin pin their joined hands beside his head, but reaching up to grab Martin’s hair with his free hand. Martin bracketed Jon’s body with his legs, his knees planted into the bed on either side of Jon’s thighs, effectively trapping him. Jon moaned and tried to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

“You’re all I have now,” Martin murmured, ignoring Jon’s whine when the kissing stopped. “You’re my… _everything_.” He sounded stunned by this fact. It wasn’t romantic or possessive, it was just accurate.

Jon nodded. “I’m sorry. God, Martin, I’m so sorry. But I am…” Martin bit at his neck and Jon gasped. “I _am_ yours.”

Martin hummed against the skin he’d bitten, then moved lower, pressing kisses and nips to Jon’s shoulders and chest and abdomen as he went. Jon watched him in the dim light, smoothing his hair away from his face so that Jon could see the way Martin’s lips pressed against him or parted to let his teeth worry lightly at Jon’s skin. “Martin…”

Their joined hands pulled Jon up into a sitting position as Martin slid off the foot of the bed, tugging Jon down. He nosed between Jon’s knees and Jon willingly spread his legs for him, staring down intently as Martin looked up at him.

“Can I?” Martin asked, leaning in. His breath was hot on the inside of Jon’s thighs, and his eyes were a deep brown. Jon nodded.

It was everything he’d hoped for. Martin’s lovely lips wrapped around him, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. The view was spectacular, and Jon spread his legs as wide as he could, allowing Martin to take him in completely. His mouth was hot and slick, and Jon was small enough soft to fit quite nicely. He felt Martin’s tongue caressing him, looking for was Jon liked best. Jon wasn’t able to tell him that what he liked best was Martin, on his knees, being beautiful and letting Jon look at him.

“You don’t have to worry about… oh,” Jon felt his cock start to fill, slowly and lazily as always, as Martin hummed around him. He’d never particularly enjoyed the feeling of arousal, but the clear pleasure on Martin’s face was more than enough to make up for it. “Alright, love. Take whatever you want.” It felt nice. It looked amazing. Martin gripped the inside of Jon’s thighs as he started to choke a little on the hardening cock in his mouth, pulling back slightly only to try again, determined to get whatever he needed from this. Jon stroked his hair and watched, taking everything in, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable heaviness and tension in his lower abdomen. It was worth it, more than worth it, to have Martin like this.

Martin finally pulled off, red-faced and panting. “Is that enough? Can I–”

“Yes,” Jon interrupted. “Whatever you want, Martin.”

Martin fumbled in his bedside table for condoms and lube, and Jon was actually a little touched that he’d saved them. Martin’s fingers were more than a little clumsy as he rolled the condom over Jon’s cock. Jon squeezed their joined hands as Martin coated the condom with lube, then reached behind himself for a perfunctory preparation that couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds.

“It’ll hurt,” Jon warned him as Martin straddled him, lining himself up with Jon’s cock. “You’re not ready.”

“I want it to hurt,” Martin said. He wasn’t crying, but there were tear-streaks on his skin. “I want to feel every part of it.”

Jon nodded and braced himself as Martin slid down. It was tight and hot, and incredibly slow as Martin’s arse spasmed every time he tried to move down. The hand that still held Jon’s tightened to the point of pain as Martin tried to impale himself on Jon’s cock, and Jon held him back just as fiercely.

“You’re going to look so good,” Jon said. Martin looked up at him and Jon smiled. “I’m going to love watching you fuck yourself on my prick.”

He could feel Martin tense at his words, then force himself to relax and ease further down onto Jon’s cock. Jon placed his free hand on Martin’s thigh and stroked the soft skin, feeling Martin’s muscles twitch under his fingers. “Jon,” Martin breathed out, closing his eyes. “Jon…”

“Love you,” Jon said, and Martin let out a deep breath in a sigh and relaxed just enough to take Jon’s cock fully in. “My gorgeous Martin. I love you. Whatever you need, whatever it takes, I will make sure you’re happy.”

Martin sobbed and started moving, seemingly caught between physical pleasure and mental grief of the moment. Jon gently rocked up into him, mirroring his movements and watching avidly as Martin completely fell apart in front of him. All the protections of being a servant to The Lonely had been stripped away and Martin’s truest self was revealed and it was painful and desperate and greedy and lovely and Jon drank it all in as Martin rode him to completion, panting and sobbing as he came down, still impaled on Jon’s cock.

Jon slowly, carefully, sat up. Martin gasped and winced as Jon’s cock shifted inside him, but that only interrupted the sobbing rather than replacing it. Jon caged Martin’s face in his hands and kissed his cheeks and forehead and lips. “I’m here. For as long as you need me.” Martin clutched him tightly, burying his face in the crook of Jon’s neck and crying like his heart had been broken. Jon stroked his hair and kissed the side of his head and murmured soft, soothing things and took in every moment of his breakdown. He could feel The Eye revel in Martin’s misery and pain, could feel it imparting strength and power to Jon in return, and was both sickened and delighted by it.

Because it wasn’t just pain and misery. It was a catharsis. And if The Eye could be fed on this kind of painful growth, rather than simple terror, maybe Jon could find a way to survive without torturing anyone. Martin shook in his arms, and Jon tamped that thought down, focusing on soothing and comforting. Growth it might be, but it had a cost, and it was Jon’s duty to make that cost worth it.

When Martin finally calmed enough, Jon pulled him down to the bed and gingerly slipped out of him, still hard. Martin could barely keep his eyes open, but he made a sound of protest. “You’re still…”

“Hush, love,” Jon said. “It’s okay. Go to sleep, I’ll take care of it.” He stroked Martin’s hair until he finally drifted off, then placed a kiss on his forehead and nestled into the bed beside him, their hands still bound.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he promised, knowing Martin couldn’t hear him. Knowing someone else could. “One way or another.”

He woke before Martin and shot of a few texts to Basira, Daisy, and Melanie. Only Basira answered, with _I know. I told them to give you two days at least._ and Jon smiled. He started a load of laundry and had a shower and checked in on Martin to find him still sleeping. It was coming up to noon, almost late enough that Martin would have gotten a proper amount of sleep, and Jon was getting antsy. Wasn’t oversleeping a depression symptom? It was; the moment he wondered about it, he was given the answer, along with most of the DSM-V. Helpful, but not particularly useful.

“You could just download all the information about The Extinction to my brain, while you’re at it,” Jon muttered aloud. Nothing happened. “Figured.”

He logged onto Martin’s computer and did a quick search for local doomsday cults, once again finding nothing of use. He was glad that he could at least vet real threats from useless cults, but it did give him something of a headache. He’d probably have more luck looking into titans of industry, petroleum giants or plastic manufacturers or factory farms. Although factory farms were pretty much the domain of The Flesh. Maybe he could use that angle, gather some allies? Jon thought about Jared Hopworth and decided against it. The Flesh weren’t _great_ allies.

When he heard the sounds of Martin stirring, he immediately abandoned the computer and rushed to Martin’s bedside. He’d promised to be there for him, and he didn’t plan on breaking that promise before lunch. “Morning.”

Martin visibly startled, then blinked rapidly as he went over the past day in his mind. It took a few moments, but he caught up. “…morning. I, uh… sorry about last night.”

Jon wanted to kiss him. Jon _could_ kiss him. Jon did kiss him. “I love you. Don’t ever apologize to me for anything ever again. Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Martin laughed, and it was only slightly bitter. “That’s stupid, Jon. I love you too, but that just means we’re going to have more opportunities to hurt each other and we’re going to have to be careful with each other.” Jon sat back with a big grin. Martin frowned. “What?”

“That’s the first time you came out and said you love me,” Jon said. “And I’ll concede that apologies might be necessary in our relationship, but you’re going to have to stop apologizing for just being you.”

“I’ve told you I love you,” Martin said. “I’m sure I did.”

“Nope,” Jon said cheerfully. “That was the first. It was nice. Thank you.”

Martin hit him lightly in the chest. “Don’t thank me for that.” He was blushing.

“But I’m grateful!” Jon protested, grinning as Martin’s blush spread down his neck to his chest. “It’s nice to hear. I mean, I did have my suspicions, but verification is important in these matters…” He trailed off happily as Martin pulled him in for another kiss.

“I love you,” Martin said softly as he pulled away. “Don’t doubt it.”

“Never will,” Jon promised. If Martin stopped loving him, he wouldn’t have to doubt it. He’d Know. “Go wash up. I’ll set up breakfast.” He thought for a moment. “Or lunch.”

Martin frowned. “What time is it?” He glanced at his bedside alarm clock and his eyes widened. “ _Seriously_?”

“You looked like you needed the sleep,” Jon said. “I’ll make eggs and tea. Simple enough and doubles as either breakfast or lunch. Then we can strategize.”

Martin took long showers. Jon Knew, without asking, that he kept the temperature consistently below comfortable and wallowed in the mild misery of it. Jon hardly considered himself a hedonist, but he could see he would have to teach Martin how to (and that it was okay to) enjoy himself. The lack of spices in Martin’s kitchen might also have reflected that lack of joy, or he might just like traditional British cooking. Either way, there was at least some salt and ground black pepper, enough to make passable fried eggs.

He was just setting the table when Martin came in. He’d dressed, but not for work. He was, in fact, wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he’d first kidnapped Jon. Jon thought about pointing that out, then decided against it. “Have a seat.”

He served Martin his eggs and toast, placing a kiss on his head as he set the plate in front of him before returning for his own food. Martin stared at him, even as Jon started eating. “What?”

“You look… happy.”

“I am, rather,” Jon said. “Last night was lovely, and you’re not slowly withering away to feed an eldritch abomination, and you love me, and we’re together. The Extinction is still a very real threat, and I’m willing to work with _Peter Lukas_ ,” he nearly spat the name, “in order to stop it, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. For today, all we have to worry about is what we’re going to do with our free afternoon.”

Martin looked down at his plate. “I don’t suppose you like going to the zoo?”

“The zoo is fine,” Jon said cheerfully. “Eat up, and we’ll get ready to go.” Martin looked like he didn’t quite believe what was happening. Jon dialled back his manic joviality. “It’s not just sex, love. If I can make you happy, I will. Sometimes that’ll mean sucking your prick, sometimes that’ll mean going to the zoo. I’m grateful to be able to do either.”

“But… what do you want?” Martin asked.

That was a harder question. “I want to know you, of course. Part of that is my link with Beholding, but mostly it’s just how much you fascinate me. If you’re worried that I’m going to be selfless in this relationship, don’t be. You’ll suffer through my idea of fun eventually. But for now I do want to focus on what you want.”

“Because I’m broken,” Martin said, matter-of-factly.

Jon inclined his head in partial agreement. “You’ve lost a lot. Not just your connection with Forsaken, but your purpose and stability. I can help with some of that, I can promise you that I’ll always be here for you, for as long as you want me. I can ask you to help me with stopping The Extinction. I can try to bully Elias into keeping you employed at The Magnus Institute. But I can’t make up for everything that you’ve lost. So, instead, I’ll take you to the zoo.”

Martin swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

Jon felt something lurch in his chest. “Martin, it is truly my pleasure.”

Martin had three reactions to the zoo. There was a genuine childlike wonder at some of the animals, charming in its openness and honesty. Most animals were in pairs or groups, but some were solitary and Martin seemed to almost yearn towards them, which was mildly concerning. Occasionally, he’d realize how many people were around him, and he’d clutch at Jon’s hand after his attempts to fade away didn’t work. Jon would squeeze his hand and find something to distract him with. 

Then there were the rare times when the crowd around them thinned, when there was nothing interesting to keep their attention between exhibits, and Martin seemed to lose himself in being with Jon, as if they were the only two people in the world. The tension in his shoulders would ease and he would press closer to Jon as they walked. When he smiled, it would reach his eyes, and his expression was so gentle and sweet that Jon couldn’t help but smile back. By the time the zoo closed for the evening, Jon’s feet were sore and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the smell out of his nose, but he felt content and satisfied as Martin shot one last look over his shoulder as they left.

“We can come back later,” Jon promised.

Martin nodded, but his easy smile faded. “If there is a later.” The Extinction clearly loomed over him as well.

They ordered in, too tired to make supper, and Jon had a shower. He snuck in after Martin started showering and gently increased the heat until it was pleasant while Martin’s back was turned to the faucets. He kept a metaphysical eye on Martin as he dressed for bed, and welcomed him from the shower by immediately wrapping him in a towel and rubbing him dry. Martin laughed awkwardly and made small sounds of protest that faded into sighs as Jon pressed his lips to the shower-warmed skin of his jaw and neck, kissing down to his chest.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to take another shower,” Martin said, trying to joke, but the shakiness of his voice belied his attempt. Jon smiled and draped the towel over his shoulders, sliding his hands down to Martin’s hips. “Jon, really, you don’t have to…”

“Oh, I’m not doing this for free,” Jon said, looking up at Martin as his mouth moved down to his nipples. “It’s going to cost you.”

Martin actually relaxed at that. “Oh? What will it cost me?”

“I want you to talk,” Jon said. “If you stop, I stop.”

Martin groaned. “Could have found me a nice Desolation boy, but no. I had to fall in love with the bloody Archivist.”

Jon laughed. “You can keep complaining if you like. Just as long as you talk.”

“And if I stop, you’ll stop,” Martin said, his breath hitching as Jon latched onto a nipple and bit down lightly. “I can end this torture whenever I like, can I?” His hands found their way into Jon’s hair and resting on Jon’s shoulder. “I have the power, the control here, that’s what you’re saying?” Jon made a faintly affirmative sound against the bottom of Martin’s rib cage and Martin shuddered. “I can just… what… tell you about my day? About how I woke up feeling like my entire world had been taken from me, to something I thought I’d never have. About warm words and gentle kisses and reassurances and a feeling of belonging that filled a hole in me that had been smoke and fog and loneliness. About being taken care of, in so many ways, about – holy shit, Jon!”

Jon hadn’t ever had a cock in his mouth before. He’d clearly been working up to it, so he wasn’t sure what had alarmed Martin so much, but it didn’t seem like that big a deal. It was uncomfortable, forcing his jaw to open wider than he’d prefer, and the taste wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was fine. He focused on keeping his teeth away from Martin’s sensitive skin and breathing through his nose and felt like he was doing a decent job. From the way Martin’s hand gripped his hair and pushed him forward, he hoped that Martin also felt like he was doing well. But he’d stopped speaking.

The wet sound Martin’s cock made as Jon pulled off almost went unheard under Martin’s suddenly desperate panting. Jon looked up at him, enjoying the view of his wide eyes and open mouth and red face. “Martin.” Martin stared at him, unresponsive. “Martin, love. Sweetheart. _Martin_.”

“What?” Martin managed, barely.

“You stopped talking.”

“Oh, you absolute…” Martin’s complaining trailed off into a moan as Jon took him back into his mouth. “I… I have to talk through this? Fine. What do you want to hear? How good you feel, god, how good you look?” Jon hummed and Martin swore softly, his hand tightening its grip in Jon’s hair. “Yeah, that’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s not enough for you to watch, you want to be watched, don’t you?” Jon felt a shiver run down his spine and he moaned again, sucking harder, swallowing around Martin’s length and trying to get more in his mouth. “Shit, _shit_ , Jon you’re so good, you look so good on your knees for me, your lips…” Martin thrust forward, just a little, and Jon choked as his cockhead bumped just a little too deep. “Sorry, I… I’m close, I want… I want to fuck your face, I want to come all over you, I want to see you _wrecked_ , you pretty little thing, I–” Martin’s ranting trailed off into a deep groan as Jon’s mouth filled with an unpleasantly thick salty liquid. He swallowed instinctively, then pulled off in time for the second, weaker spurt to hit his face, mingling with the drool and semen seeping out of his mouth. He could see Martin’s leg muscles quivering with the effort of remaining standing, and gently pulled him down to kneel with him. He was staring at Jon as if he’d never seen him before, as if he was something wondrous, and Jon couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and kissing him.

Martin’s tongue pressed insistently into Jon’s mouth, chasing the taste of himself in every possible crevice he could find. When he pulled away, it was only to cup Jon’s face in his hands and eagerly lap at his skin, cleaning off every drop that marked him. It felt nothing like being groomed by a cat, but Jon still drew the comparison and laughed softly as Martin’s tongue tickled him. It was charming, in its way.

“You’re incredible,” Martin whispered against his cheek. “Did you… did you like that?”

He sounded so hopeful. Jon smiled and decided he could get used to the taste and the stretch if it meant having this. “I did. More than I expected to.”

“Good.” The relief off Martin was palpable. “I… um… I know you’re already in your pyjamas, but d’you think we could sleep together without them?”

“Of course,” Jon said. “Easy access?”

Martin blushed. “No, I mean, not like that. I just… I want to feel you. Touch you.”

“I’d like that.”

Martin’s hair was still damp, but that didn’t stop Jon from burying his fingers in it after Martin pulled his shirt off and sat on the bed, nuzzling Jon’s stomach as he pulled down his bottoms. “Martin…”

“I want to make you happy too,” Martin said, his words muffled by Jon’s skin.

Jon laughed. “Keep doing that and you’re well on your way.”

Martin wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling him forwards and down to straddle his lap, his mouth working up Jon’s body in the opposite direction Jon’s had worked down his. “It feels like an indulgence,” he murmured, “touching you like this, tasting you like this. How can this be for you when I’m getting so much out of it?”

“Ah, the eternal paradox,” Jon said, stifling a giggle as Martin’s lips brushed over a particularly ticklish spot. “How to be selfless when pleasure is shared.”

Martin nipped at him. “Don’t pretend you get as much out of sex as I do.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Jon said. “I enjoy it. You seem to enjoy it. So far we are even.”

“Bollocks.” Martin flipped them over, Jon’s pyjama pants flopping to the floor as his feet flew through the air. A heavy burst of air left Jon’s lungs as he hit the mattress, making his laugh sound slightly pained. “You do it for me.”

“Mmm,” Jon said, arching under Martin, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. “It’s _all_ for you, Martin.”

Martin stared at him for a long moment before sniggering. Jon grinned and wound his arms around Martin’s neck. “Hey, I’m trying to be sexy here,” he protested as Martin shook with laughter in his arms.

“I’m trying to say thank you, and that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Martin said, as soon as he recovered. “I’m tying to draw some boundaries here.”

“Good luck with that,” Jon said cheerfully, lifting himself up enough to peck Martin on the nose before falling back against the bed. “As long as sex with you is fun, I’m for it.”

“Is it? Fun?”

Jon shrugged. “At least as much fun as the zoo. Much more fun than over half your movie collection. Maybe not as fun as filing.”

Martin froze. “Filing?”

“Ooh, or indexing,” Jon said, grinning. “Or cataloguing or sorting, or–” He broke off, laughing, as Martin tickled him. “Quit it!”

“I thought you were serious for a second!”

“I’m always serious about organizational structuring,” Jon protested, writhing happily under Martin. “As Head Archivist of The Magnus Institue, London, it’s my _life_.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Martin said, letting Jon catch his breath as he smiled fondly at him. “I love you.”

Jon breathed out and found himself returning that smile. “I love you too. Now, are you going to fuck me, or not?”

“Not,” Martin said decisively, dropping down on top of Jon with a whoomp. “To tired. Must sleep.”

“Get off me, you giant lug!” Jon squirmed, unable to breathe deeply and mostly amused by that. “At least get under the covers. Your arse’ll get chilblains.”

It took some doing, but they managed to wriggle under the sheets, still wrapped in each others’ arms.

“We’re going in tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Jon hummed an affirmative answer. “Sorry for the short honeymoon, but there are things to be done.”

“Whatever you need,” Martin promised.

“Thanks, love,” Jon said, hoping he’d have some plan in mind the next morning.


	4. Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the dubcon and 'Web made them do it' parts come in. That being said, they would have done it anyway.

He didn’t.

“Do you believe Peter Lukas?”

“About The Extinction? Yeah. He’s very set on needing distance from other people to be properly lonely. He thinks it… hmm… that it’s like a lifecycle? The fears grow and change as societies grow and change, and then The Extinction paves the way for new societies, new fears. Maybe it’s just how things are supposed to go, maybe that’s why Mr. Bouchard doesn’t seem to care. But Peter doesn’t want to lose what he has, and doesn’t want to survive even under the protection of Forsaken if there’s nothing for him to set himself apart from.”

“Should I agree, then? It sounds like this is truly an existential crisis, and I have an Anchor. I have you. I could manage it, I think.”

Martin scoffed, then immediately looked ashamed. “Um. Sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded, just… of course you think you could manage it.”

Jon tried hard not to bristle, to keep his tone even. “What did you mean?” He didn’t succeed, and it came out curt.

Martin flinched, but didn’t actually back down. “I know what happened with Detective Tonner. I know you went to Ny-Ålesund without a plan. I know you were in a coma for months, all but brain-dead, after stopping the Unknowing. I’m sure you _always_ think you can manage it. Just as I’m sure Mr. Bouchard always encourages you to think that.”

“Elias doesn’t want me dead,” Jon said. “If he did, I’m sure he’d have shot me himself by now.”

“Would that even kill you? A properly realized Archivist?” Martin shook his head. “When are you going to realize that there are things worse than death?”

“That’s not…” Jon took a deep breath. “I know it seems like that, sometimes. But as long as you’re alive, you can affect change, make choices, try to do the right things. It… it doesn’t always work out, obviously, but once you’re dead, it’s over. You can’t fix things anymore. You’re left with what you’ve done without any recourse.”

Martin didn’t look convinced. “And once you’re seated on The Watcher’s Throne, wearing The Watcher’s Crown, you think there’ll be a _you_ left to do anything?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I doubt Peter Lukas would enjoy the world The Eye would unleash, so I can’t imagine he’s pushing for Beholding’s ritual. And Elias has, frankly, invested too much time in me to throw me away on some other Avatar’s whim.”

“You hope.”

“Do you _sincerely_ believe The Extinction is an emerging and imminent threat?” Jon Asked.

Martin nodded, but looked resentful about it. “Peter is absolutely convinced, and overtly terrified. He would never admit it, but he is. I agree that he wouldn’t risk Beholding’s ascendancy, if only because The Eye and The Lonely don’t actually work well together. But it’s been centuries since Mr. Fairchild’s attempted a ritual, and The Vast would be a far more hospitable fear. He might just be buying time.”

“And the two of them are playing Elias?” Jon sounded sceptical.

“Beholding is a, a parasitic fear,” Martin said. “Every fear is enhanced by it, by the core-deep knowledge of what’s happening to the victims. And it feeds off every experience. The Spiral and The Web often do as well, but not as avidly as The Eye does. No matter whose ritual succeeds, The Eye will feast on the scraps. The Vast is something Mr. Bouchard can understand; its world a place where he can fulfil a role. The Extinction may not be.”

Jon snorted. “So a true alliance, of sorts. Better to serve in hell than the unknown.”

“The Extinction is the end of humanity,” Martin said. “I can’t imagine an Avatar of any fear who would be comfortable with that.”

“Then what do you propose?” Jon said. “What can we do?”

Martin looked down and visibly swallowed. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Almost certainly not. But you’re not going to let me follow their plan or, rather, fall into their trap, so what do you propose as an alternative?”

Martin looked up, and his warm, brown eyes were full of an unspoken apology. They looked at Jon in exactly the same way as they stood outside the house on Hill Top Road. Jon tried desperately not to resent him. “I don’t like this.”

“She’s just as afraid of you as you are of her,” Martin said. “The Web needs uncertainty to operate. It doesn’t lie, but it leaves truths unspoken. You could pry the truth from her and she knows it.”

“And she’s here. You’re sure?”

Martin laughed. “I just said they need uncertainty. No, Jon, I’m not sure. I just… if she’s somewhere we can find her, she’s here. Or, at least, there’ll be a sign of her.”

“She told me not to come back here.”

“Maybe she knew that’s what you needed to hear to come back when you were your most desperate.”

“I hate this.”

“Yeah.” Martin’s eyes communicated the apology he refused to make. He reached out and took Jon’s hand. “Come on.”

The house was just as it had been described in the statements. Martin looked around as if assessing for risks, looking for hiding places, exits, improvised weapons. Jon fixed his gaze on the stairs, or rather on the cupboard under the stairs. It didn’t rattle. There was no eerie light spilling from the doorway. It was barely visible in the dim lighting of the boarded-up house. And yet. “There.”

Martin’s eyes followed his gaze. “How very Harry Potter.”

“If only.” Jon moved towards it, hating every step. There was no resistance the way there had been in The Lonely, but there was something within him that loathed the idea of opening that door, heading down those stairs, stepping into that basement. The crack was dark, as Anya Vilette had described it. Darker than the darkness in the unlit basement. And wide enough for eight spindly legs to pull her in. Jon looked for it, while Martin’s head whipped around to take in as much of the room as possible in the shortest amount of time. He could feel it, pulsing under him, around him, but he couldn’t see it. It wasn’t there, except that Jon was absolutely sure that it was.

The only thing present in that basement as a chair. Seated in that chair was a boy, no more than fifteen, watching them. Martin immediately placed himself between Jon and the boy, as if to bodily stop any attack. The boy chuckled.

“It’s alright. I’ve been left here as a sacrifice to The Archivist. He is welcome to all my knowledge and insight.”

Jon knew it was hopeless, but he had to try. “What do you know about The Extinction?”

“That The Mother does not desire it. Thirteen siblings is enough. It is in everyone’s best interests to stop it, at any cost.”

“Does The Web have any plans to stop it?”

“Not directly. That’s not how we operate. But yes, multiple plans are in motion. Several of them oppose and contradict each other. Such is our way.”

“If we… Beholding and Forsaken. Their plan. Does it have The Web’s support?”

The boy waved his hand. “Yes. And no. Some support it. Some support plans that would require its failure. Some support plans that would cause it to fail.”

“What plan is most likely to succeed?”

The boy laughed. “Who can say? We will only be able to look back on our attempts and evaluate them through a retrospective lense. They are, as of yet, full of unrealized potential – much like yourself.”

“I have been asked,” Jon said, as delicately as he could. “I have been _offered_ the opportunity to acquire more knowledge, to assess what weaknesses or vulnerabilities The Extinction might have, to find the most effective method of preventing its emergence. I am willing to risk a great deal to do so.” Martin made a small sound of protest. “But I would prefer a chance of returning intact. Can The Web improve my odds?”

“Yes. Our Mark on you is deep – the first and most pervasive. The Eye has you, and we would not steal you from it, but we can provide a guide for you to return to us. Should you choose to.”

“At what price?”

The boy stood up and walked towards them. He had two legs, to match his two arms. Jon was sure of it. Almost completely sure. He felt his heart lurch as the boy smiled at him as he approached, with eyes that shone inhumanly in the darkness and incisors that seemed to curve inwards. But the boy’s feral expression didn’t stay on him for long before he turned to Martin, the smile widening, the arms (two of them, almost certainly just two of them) reaching out. “A kiss.”

“No,” Jon said, even as Martin moved forward. “Not him. Take him and I _will_ become your enemy.”

“Jon,” Martin said softly. “This is fine. Let me.”

Jon shook his head. “No. You… you’re out of this. You’re free of all this eldritch nonsense! I didn’t pull you out of The Lonely to lose you to The Web.”

“We won’t take him,” the boy said. “He is fated to be a part of this, his ties to the other servants, his history with Forsaken, his relationship with you. The Archivist’s lover wouldn’t remain untainted for long. Did he not come here, with you, looking for answers? You would corrupt him, turn him to The Eye, in time. We just want our piece first.” He smiled. “We are not a jealous power. We are more than willing to share. Sometimes.”

“Jon, please. I know what I’m agreeing to. I’ve dealt with The Web before and they’ve always been fair. More than fair, really. Even generous on occasion.”

“Right. Like they weren’t just biding their time?”

Martin barked out a laugh, and it sounded broken. “What, they were waiting for me to lose my connection to The Lonely, hook up with The Archivist, and come begging for their help?”

“Perhaps,” the boy said. “Would it change your answer if we were?”

“No,” Martin said. “Help him and you can have me.”

One hand gripped Martin’s arm and another caressed his face. Then another pair mirrored them on his other side. “You have our word.” Jon could see, just before their lips met, something dark and small skittering behind the boy’s teeth as he arched up to kiss Martin deeply enough that Jon would have felt uncomfortable watching, even without knowing that something hideous was happening between them.

Martin’s body convulsed and Jon could hear the sound of laughter as another pair of… limbs… wrapped around Martin’s waist, holding him up. Another convulsion wracked Martin’s body and Jon broke through his stupefied horror. “Stop! Let him go.” He took a deep breath. “ **Release him.** ”

The boy pulled away and Martin collapsed. His body twitched and spasmed, and Jon could see the tiny black bodies of small spiders scuttling around him. The boy was still laughing.

Jon didn’t pay him any attention as he dropped down and checked Martin’s body. He was breathing, his eyes wide with fear, his pupils literally blown as if he had overdosed. His fingers tried to hold Jon’s arms, but couldn’t quite grip him. The Knowledge that Martin would survive this, Marked and changed, coursed through Jon and relieved his anxiety while heightening his fear. He should have stopped this. He _could_ have stopped it, had he been quicker, braver, smarter. He shouldn’t have brought Martin here at all, no matter that it had been Martin’s idea.

“If any harm comes to him as a result of this,” Jon said softly. “I will find a way to make you and yours pay.”

“Of course, Archivist,” the boy said smoothly, mirth still audible in his voice. “Should you survive your ordeal.” 

Jon felt three hands touch him: in his hair, on his neck, on the small of his back. Another hand pressed over his heart, and it didn’t _quite_ have fingers. He shuddered.

“Good luck. And, should you encounter Annabelle Cane again, remember that she advised you not to come here.”

By the time Jon managed to help Martin to his feet, the boy was long gone. Martin shivered in his arms, but was able to stand on his own and clutch at Jon. “Ow.”

“I’m mad at you,” Jon muttered, pressing as close to Martin as possible.

Martin nodded. “Yeah, I–I know. But for now… I’m cold, Jon. Really cold.”

It was barely noon. “I think we’ve put in a full day. Let’s go home.”

Martin’s body didn’t feel cold. When they returned to his flat, he drew up a bath and was about to go in before Jon measured his temperature. He was well past the point of a fever, even as his body trembled and his teeth chattered. Jon grabbed him some paracetamol and stripped the duvet off the bed, laying Martin down and stroking his hair as he whined that he couldn’t get warm and begged Jon to touch him. Jon kissed his forehead and held his hand and only realized what Martin meant when Martin whimpered and reached between his legs with his free hand and started jerking himself off.

“Oh,” Jon said in sudden understanding. Then, “ _Oh_ ,” in anger. It could easily be argued that this wasn’t harmful, but it was cruel. Jon allowed himself a few seconds to hate The Web before releasing Martin’s hand and caressing the inside of Martin’s thigh until he spread wide enough for Jon to stroke at his entrance. Martin’s hips bucked up and he started fucking his hand in earnest. Jon kept his touch light and mouthed at Martin’s jaw as Martin squirmed, his breath coming fast and hard. “That’s right,” Jon murmured. “Let go for me, sweetheart. You’ll feel so much better.” He wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but at least then they could talk about what Martin needed. “Come on, Martin. I want to see you make a lovely mess of yourself.”

The cry Martin made as he came was weak and broken, the dribble of semen from his cock almost pitiful. He was just as hard as he’d been, but now he winced when anything brushed against his cock. Jon removed his hand and kissed Martin’s cheek, tasting the salt from the feverish sweat that coated him. “What do you need?”

“Fuck me,” Martin begged. “Please, Jon.”

“Of course,” Jon said, kissing Martin’s face as he took out the lube from the bedside table. “I’m going to use my fingers, alright? You let me know when you want something more.”

“Your cock?” Martin said hopefully as Jon positioned himself between his legs.

Jon pressed a finger smoothly inside him and shook his head. “I can’t promise that, love. But if you ask nicely, I’ll suck you off.”

“Fuck me first,” Martin insisted, arching his hips into Jon’s careful prodding. “God, more, Jon. I need to feel you inside me.”

“Alright.” Jon kissed the inside of Martin’s knee and pressed a second finger in. There was more resistance, but Martin still took it remarkably easily, only groaning when Jon added a third. “How are you doing?”

“ _More_ ,” Martin moaned. “I need you so badly, Jon. _Please_.”

Jon thrust his fingers in with a cruel twist at the end that had Martin gasping and arching, and his cock leaking. He resented that The Web had set up a situation where he was the most useless person to help Martin, and couldn’t help but feel it was their version of a prank. He kissed down the inside of Martin’s leg, fucking him as roughly as he could with three fingers, and pausing only at the base of his cock. “Martin. Do you want my mouth on you?”

Martin sobbed, nodding vigorously, unable to form words in his desperation. The part of Jon that loved watching revelled in this new sight before his eyes, Martin’s flushed skin glistening in the afternoon light, Martin’s unrestrained movements and sounds, Martin’s complete and utter vulnerability. It was the most real and naked he’d ever seen him, and Martin just kept giving him more. The part of Jon that loved Martin hated that Martin would be mortified by how he was acting, how wanton and needy. Jon just wished he could make it easier for him, but despite his strong feelings, both positive and negative, his cock remained uninterested. “We’ll buy something,” Jon whispered, mostly to himself. “There are… things. Toys. We’ll make sure I can satisfy you somehow.” He felt inadequate to the task, but pushed those feelings down and focused on Martin, licking up the underside of his cock and swallowing around the head, letting Martin buck up into his mouth and use him.

His eyes burned with frustrated tears when Martin came just as weakly as before, barely a trickle, and didn’t soften. He swallowed and pulled out, his heart aching at the sound Martin made at the loss, and stood back. Martin looked a mess, dishevelled and covered in sweat and tears and snot and semen. He was flushed from his face down his neck to his chest, his nipples as hard as his cock. He grasped at the bedsheet under him, writhing in a useless attempt to get some form of satisfaction. He winced as his hand closed around his cock again, clearly in pain as he started fucking his fist. And Jon couldn’t help him.

Jon stripped out of his clothes and gamely started working his cock in time with Martin’s furious tugs. His hand was deliciously slick from the lube he’d needed to finger fuck Martin, and he knew that he could just slip back in the moment he was hard. Martin would take him easily and they could work together to find his release. If only he could get hard.

“Look at him,” Jon muttered to himself. “Look at how lovely he is in his desperation. Imagine how he’d look as you fucked into him. How he’d taste as you drink the sounds from his lips. You’ve never seen that, have you?” he asked, no longer to himself. “You’ve seen so much of him, but you’ve never seen that. Help me. Help me help him and I will show you _everything_ you could ever want to see.” A small curl of arousal started low in his belly. Jon knew it wasn’t from him. “We stole him. He’s _ours_. They can’t have him. Take him with me. Take him _back_.”

Jon hadn’t thought about what it might mean, being a fully realized Archivist. He’d always had a vague awareness, when using his abilities, of something else within him, something not human. It had become permanent after he woke from his coma, waxing and waning, but never fully gone. It had never blossomed inside him as it did in that moment, responding to his invitation by filling every part of him with a hungry power.

He… _they_ stepped forward and grasped Martin’s legs, pulling his knees apart. Martin gasped out something that wasn’t quite words but contained Jon’s name, and Jon felt his eyes opening wider than was physically possible as he lined himself up and thrust inside Martin’s hot body. There was a modicum of resistance there, just enough that Jon smiled at the challenge and slid his hands from Martin’s knees down the back of his thighs, grasping generous handfuls of Martin’s arse before lifting him up and angling his cock in as deep as he could, bottoming out after two merciless thrusts.

Martin yelped and his hand fell away from his cock as he scrambled against the bedsheets, looking for purchase. Jon felt his smile stretch into a grin as he pounded into Martin’s body, avidly watching as each thrust shoved him higher up the bed, tangling his sweaty hair and drawing beautiful, helpless noises from his open mouth. He knelt, one knee then the other, slowly moving them up the bed until Martin’s head banged against the headboard in time with Jon’s thrusts. Martin threw his arms over his head, bracing himself as best he could, and Jon felt a longing, satisfied sigh escape his lips.

“ **Show me** ,” Jon breathed out, the words not his. “ **Give me your pleasure, your pain…** ” Martin’s eyes widened, and Jon felt a rush of power and elation course through him as Martin realized exactly what was fucking him. “ **Your fear, yes, give me that.** ” Jon turned his head, his eyes remaining fixed on Martin’s aroused and terrified face, and kissed the inside of his knee. “We’ll get you through this, love,” he promised. “One way or another.”

The Lonely was a gentle fear. The Web, similarly, typically sat in the back of your mind, a subtle discomfort. The Eye could be a creeping revelation, the growing terror of pieces falling into place, but it could also be the abrupt realization, like a light turning on. Martin was used to subtle, gentle fears. He couldn’t handle the suddenness of this terror, and The Eye basked in the way he sobbed and struggled, twisting desperately in Jon’s arms, weakened by The Web’s fever and his own exhaustion after two unsatisfying orgasms. He was still hard, even as he trembled, The Web’s curse unabated by his fear. “Please,” he whispered hopelessly. “Please…”

Jon wasn’t sure what he was pleading for. “It’ll be over soon,” he promised, ignoring the almost sulky protest that shot through him as he spoke. “I’m here.” He spread Martin’s legs wider and leaned forward between them, his hips never faltering in their rhythm as he bent down. “I love you.”

“Jon?” Martin said, and his fear died down, only for another, equally delightful fear to rise in its place. “Jon, is that you? Are you…?”

Jon kissed him, tasting the sweat and tears on his lips, along with the slightly acrid taste of his fear, like biting into a penny. “We’re not letting them have you. Any of them. You’re ours.”

The taste of Martin’s fear sharpened and Jon groaned as he licked into Martin’s mouth, searching it out. He wrapped a hand around Martin’s cock, barely able to fit it between their bellies as he fucked him as hard as he could from this shallower, less satisfying angle. “If this doesn’t work,” he promised between kisses. “If you’re still hard after this, I’m going to take you on your hands and knees.” Martin groaned, and Jon felt a renewed dampness where the tip of Martin’s cock rubbed against him. “Then I’ll ride you like you rode me, watching you from above.” He could feel Martin tense around him and fucked him faster. “I might do that anyway, once this is all over. I think I’d enjoy it. Would you?” Martin opened his mouth to answer, but all that escaped was a strangled cry of relief as he finally found his release, spilling between their bodies and over Jon’s hand.

That should have been the end. Jon should have pulled out carefully, and checked to make sure Martin was alright. What he did was kiss him one last time before settling back between his legs and rolling his hips, pressing himself slowly in and out, as deeply as he could. Martin’s spent cock slipped against his thigh with every movement, and Jon could feel Martin’s relief quickly replaced by fear again. “J-Jon…”

“ **Show me more,** ” Jon’s mouth said, his body gripping Martin’s legs to keep him in place as his cock pressed deeper into Martin’s body with every slow thrust. “ **Give me my due.** ”

“I…” Martin was tight around Jon’s cock, hot and perfect. “I first encountered The Web running an errand for Peter Lukas.”

“ ** _Yes…_** ”

“It was a delivery. Peter – _ah_ – Peter doesn’t just use his ship to lure lonely sailors out where they’ll never be missed. He transports a lot of artefacts that can’t be shipped through normal means. The Lonely is a good – a, a good holding space for a lot of them, and he has a reputation for moving unmovables. He’s surprisingly well-regarded in our circles, which has probably kept him alive longer than he should be, given that he has a tendency to antagonize. Well. Everyone.”

Martin’s voice settled into the usual cadence of a statement, ignoring whatever discomfort Jon’s body was inflicting on him. Jon kept fucking him as he spoke.

“The artefact was a string. Literally, just a string tied in a circle, like what you’d use to play games or make designs with your fingers. It was one of those plastic sandwich bags that sealed at the top. Not exactly high-end security, but apparently sufficient. It was the first thing Peter had asked me to do, and I thought… I guess I thought it was some kind of test? Like, do this ridiculous thing without asking questions and I’ll know you can be trusted kind of thing? In hindsight, he was actually casually putting my life in danger, but that at least makes sense. He’s never bother explaining why he wants me to do the things he tells me to do. He’ll rant about his concerns, like The Extinction or whatever power is irritating him, but he doesn’t bother to explain himself to me. Still, you pick things up, don’t you?”

Jon shifted slightly and Martin gasped as his attention was drawn again to what Jon was doing to him. Rather than trying to escape, Martin reached down and clasped Jon’s hand with his own and continued speaking. “The delivery wasn’t to Hill Top Road, but it was to Raymond Fielding. I couldn’t tell you where the delivery took place. I wasn’t given directions other than to wander around a certain neighbourhood until someone contacted me. Again, I thought this was just a test. Given the antagonistic relationship between The Web and The Desolation, I might have been bait. Either way, it took hours for Mr. Fielding to approach me. He looked… nice. Like a pleasant, middle-aged man. He asked me if I had anything for him, and I told him I did. There hadn’t been any mention of money, so I took out the bag and handed it to him. I’m not sure why I folded it up small and kept it inside my fist, as if to hide it. Maybe I was trying to prove that I could be discreet? Maybe it wasn’t entirely my decision. Either way, Mr. Fielding took it from me the same way, before stuffing it in his pocket.”

Martin laughed, and the sound reverberated down his body, around Jon’s cock. Jon sighed in a pleasure echoed by the power that thrummed inside him and wrapped a gentle hand around Martin’s cock, urging it back to fullness. “It must have looked like a drug deal,” Martin said. “There were better ways to handle it. I had no idea what I was doing, and Mr. Fielding seemed to know that. He asked after Peter. Actually, what he said was ‘how is your employer?’ so it’s possible he didn’t even know it was Peter. I told him that I’d just received instructions, nothing more. Mr. Fielding smiled at that, and asked how I was enjoying my employment. I’m not sure if you read my statement?”

“I did,” Jon said, not revealing anything about the circumstances.

“Okay. Then you know why I felt extremely loyal to Peter for hiring me. Also, going from no one replying to my applications to being headhunted was… weird. Surreal. I’m not sure why Mr. Fielding would have done that, except as a joke. I guess that now that The Web sort of has me, it’s less funny. At the time, though, I remembered being flattered and indignant and seventeen. Not a great combination. I’m not entirely sure what I had been about to say, when a spider crawled out of Mr. Fielding’s sleeve. It’s a power move, like the way Mr. Fairchild always seems to be moving away from you without taking a step, or like the world fading around a servant of The Lonely. I didn’t know that then. All I saw was this lovely brown lady creep out of hiding and into the sun and… and wave at me with a foreleg.”

Martin’s smile grew fond and dreamy. Jon didn’t like it, and started speeding his thrusts, fucking Martin properly as his hand tightened around Martin’s cock. Martin met his eyes and grinned, arching into him. “I cooed at her. It was the dumbest reaction anyone could have had, but it startled Mr. Fielding, probably because of how dumb it was. I’ve noticed how much that seems to bother The Web, unexpected stupidity. Even more than unexpected brilliance. He chuckled and the spider crawled back into his jacket and he ruffled my hair before turning to leave. Yeah, there were spiderwebs in there when I showered, but otherwise I’d escaped unscathed. Peter laughed when I told him about it. Everyone was laughing at me back then. It took so long for me to even figure out why. I hated it, it made me feel like an outsider. In hindsight, that was likely the point.” Martin looked sharply at Jon. “Statement ends. Finish me off?”

The power that had coursed through Jon at the start of Martin’s story had settled, satisfied and sated. He was feeling almost completely like himself again. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I want you. Not the spiders, not The Eye, just me and you.”

“Good.” Jon was tiring out and, as Martin’s statement had ended, was getting a little bored. He squeezed Martin’s hand and leaned forward, focusing on Martin’s pleasure as he worked his cock. “I missed you.”

“Yeah,” Martin said, the word coming out almost as a groan. “Is it… oh, _Jon_. Is it bad that I, I think it might have been worth it?”

“Hm?”

Martin gasped and arched and tried to answer, but his body outpaced his mind and he came over Jon’s hand, adding to the sticky mess spread over his body and sheets. It was, objectively, disgusting. Jon pulled out as quickly as he could without hurting him and collapsed onto the bed, nestling up to Martin’s side. Martin’s body was warm still, but not overheated as it had been. “What was worth it?” Jon asked, finally closing his eyes.

“All the… the stuff before. Was worth it.” Martin pressed his lips to Jon’s head and Jon could feel his smile. “Just to have you fuck me properly.”

Jon snorted. “I’m leaving you hanging next time. Or buying you a prostitute. That was exhausting and we’re both filthy.”

Martin hummed an amused agreement, clearly not buying it. “You were brilliant.”

“That was very clever,” Jon said, ignoring the pleased little rush that shot through him at Martin’s compliment. “Using a statement to satisfy The Eye. I, um. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you without it. If we’d had a chance, I’d have asked first, but…”

“No, I know,” Martin said. “I… I’d be lying if I said I liked it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. It was really confusing? I know I really don’t want to do anything like that again.”

Jon frowned. “I felt your fear, Martin. I…” If anyone would understand, it would be Martin. “I fed off it.”

“Well, yeah. It was terrifying. But also kind of…” Martin rolled towards Jon, so they were lying face-to-face. “I’m not for The Eye. I’m not curious enough, nor do I fear knowledge or being watched. But I’m yours, so this was the closest thing I could have to belonging to that part of you. Like I said, I never want to do it again, but the way you looked at me, Jon. Like you were dissecting me with your eyes, consuming _everything_ about me, not only my fear. And it felt amazing, the way it held me, helpless and forcing me to just take it. I didn’t even know I wanted that, and it gave it to me because it knew it would scare me. And it did. And it felt so good.”

Even if Jon couldn’t understand, he could follow. “It wanted you. In ways I can’t even comprehend. It wasn’t a human kind of desire, it was, god, it was so alien, but it was still desire. It wanted you so much and I love you so much and it… I think it’s the first time we were completely in sync. I wanted to comfort you so badly, but I still enjoyed holding you down, forcing you to take what we had to give.”

“I was so scared when I realized you were still there,” Martin said, his tone almost seductive. “It was one thing when I thought you’d been taken over, another when I realized you were working with it, watching me, seeing how much I loved being wrecked by it. I was terrified that you’d be disgusted with me, or that you’d never fully come back.”

“I know,” Jon said, leaning close enough to Martin for their noses to touch. “I felt it. You were…” He brushed his lips against Martin’s, and Martin chased him as he pulled away. “You were so scared.”

“I love you,” Martin said, and Jon let him capture his lips in a soft kiss. They managed a few seconds of languid affection before Martin yawned into Jon’s mouth, and Jon broke away with a faint chuckle. Martin’s eyes couldn’t quite open, and Jon’s lethargy was coming close to overwhelming him as well. They wordlessly agreed to deal with everything later and nestled together and slept.

Jon Watched as a younger version of Martin walked through the streets of Oxford, his shoulders hunched, looking over his shoulder at frequent intervals and generally acting suspiciously. He Watched a middle-aged man with a nice enough smile approach him and speak with him. There were half a dozen people around them, and Jon could See the strings that linked all of them to the man, taut and waiting for a signal to attack. He Saw how close Martin came to becoming nothing but something for The Web to apologize to Peter Lukas for. Then he Watched as the strings relaxed as a genuine, surprised smile blossomed on Martin’s face as he saw the spider. Brown recluse, Jon Knew. Potentially deadly. Martin made a little finger wave at it.

Usually, The Eye fed on the fear of the subject, while Jon Watched uselessly, unable to even change his expression from uncaring blankness. But Martin was only a little afraid, his usual background fear before the apathy of The Lonely had taken him over. The Eye was sating itself on _Jon’s_ fear. This had happened over a decade ago, and Jon could still feel the terror of watching the man he loved nearly die over and over, surviving through dumb luck and his odd predilections. Jon felt his usual reaction to overwhelming fear – anger – well up inside him. “How dare you. This was a _gift_ and you immediately abuse it.”

He felt a mental caress that was almost affectionate, and his attention was drawn to all the spiders Martin _hadn’t_ noticed. A wave of terrified revulsion crawled down Jon’s back and curled in his stomach and he felt a faint amusement and the usual avid interest in return. “I hate you.”

The string would have caught Martin like the table had caught Raymond Fielding’s prey. He would have walked unresisting into their web and been consumed. And all that had protected him was a thin layer of plastic and his own incuriosity. Jon felt his knees weaken, but he didn’t fall. He never fell or stepped forward or moved. He couldn’t. All he could do was Watch.

And, apparently, cry. His expression never changed, but he could feel the tears running down his cheeks.

It was a relief to wake up, and even more so to see Martin still sleeping, knowing that he was free from Jon’s influence over his dreams. The bed was cold and sticky with sweat and other fluids, but Jon didn’t move. He tried not to stare at Martin’s sleeping form, the way his face looked all scrunched up on it side, the space between his parted lips, the strands of hair that flopped out of place. Jon wanted to kiss him, to nestle closer in the circle of his arms and rest his head in the crook under his chin. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, smoothing it out before messing it up worse than before. He wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay now. They had each other.

Martin blinked awake slowly, and smiled when he saw Jon. Jon smiled back. “You know,” he said softly. “We’ve only known each other for about a week.”

Martin’s smile dimmed with thought before nearly doubling in size. “You’re right. We’re barely acquaintances.”

“You’re a surprisingly easy person to know, Martin Blackwood.”

Martin snorted. “I’m really not. It’s you, you’re… special.” Martin sat up suddenly, his eyes wide. “Oh, god. I… I’m a _bond girl_!”

“What?”

“Set to seduce Our Hero, seduced in return, switched sides, all in a matter of days… Jon, I’m going to be replaced in the next movie!”

Jon rolled his eyes. “If I’m James Bond, then there’s a fair chance I’ll be replaced as well.”

“Good point. We should arrange a spin-off.”

“I feel that we’ve stretched that metaphor as far as it will go,” Jon said. Martin kissed him. “Feel like getting up and having a shower?”

“I am _so_ sore. Just, everywhere,” Martin said, rolling away from Jon with a groan. “You’ll have to carry me.”

“I’ll get the water started,” Jon conceded. “But I’m not waiting.” He had barely started lathering up his hair before Martin joined him, kissing his shoulder and replacing Jon’s fingers with his. Jon leaned back and let Martin take care of him, turning around to return the favour once he’d rinsed off. The moment his chest pressed against Martin’s, they both gasped as an invisible string threaded between them seemed to slip into place. Jon could practically see the spot just over Martin’s heart where the string from his chest connected to Martin’s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Martin said, his voice heavy with guilt.

Jon shook his head. “No, I imagine not. Still, I’m happy we have it.” His voice hardened. “The next time Peter Lukas tries to take you from me, he’ll have this to contend with.”

Martin hesitated before nodding and wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist. “I suppose The Web doesn’t want me lonely.”

“Don’t worry,” Jon said. “I’ll keep an Eye on you.”

Martin tensed for a moment, and pulled back. “Jon.”

Jon looked as innocent as he could. “Yes, Martin?”

The snort of laughter that burst from Martin was the first genuinely happy sound Jon had heard him make since their trip to Hill Top Road. Jon leaned against him and felt the laughter reverberate through Martin’s chest, smiling happily. “No one gets you. Not The Lonely, not The Web, _not_ The Eye. Just me. You can carry as many of their Marks as you can, but you’ll always be mine.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Martin said, with an intensity that Jon relished. This wasn’t the apathetic man who’d taken him hostage months ago. “I wish I could pull you back, keep you safe. I wish I knew how.”

Jon kissed Martin’s chest, where the string that tied them together was rooted. “If there’s a way, you’ll find it. Now.” He gave Martin’s chest a final kiss and a quick grope. “Turn around and let me wash your hair.”

They ate after the shower, Martin ravenously and Jon sparingly. He was still full from Martin’s statement. It had been a long while since he’d taken one in person, and he’d forgotten how _satisfying_ it was. They spent the evening cuddled on the couch, watching an inoffensive documentary, taking turns massaging out sore muscles or running hands through increasingly tousled hair. Jon stripped the bed and replaced the sheets in time for their usual bedtime, but felt oddly restless. He hadn’t had a nap for years, and the thought of lying down and staring at the ceiling, waiting to go to sleep, filled him with dread.

“Let’s go for a bit of a walk,” Martin suggested. Jon nearly sagged in relief and agreed.

They walked along the river a while, hand-in-hand, enjoying the late summer air. Jon shivered, pretending to be cold so that Martin would wrap an arm around his shoulders and let him press into the warmth of his side. It was more difficult to walk like that, and they slowed down, strolling rather than walking. They crossed the river just as the night was turning properly chilly, and Jon’s legs started getting properly tired. They walked back up the river, now on the other side, and Jon felt a pleasant fog slip into his mind. He slipped his cold hand between Martin’s shirt and skin, and snickered when Martin gave a surprised yelp and paradoxically tightened his hold on Jon’s waist and tried to pull away. 

Shouldn’t they be heading home now? It was late enough, and they needed to go in tomorrow. Jon needed to connect with Basira and Daisy and Melanie about what that he’d learned, and Martin needed to prove, to himself as well as to Elias and Peter, that he was _fine_ without his connection to The Lonely. Jon lifted his head to ask Martin if they should turn around, and Martin captured his lips and Jon forgot what he wanted to say. They continued to meander, passing boarded up river clubs and small parks filled with statues that certainly weren’t moving when Jon wasn’t looking. Everything was fine.

The faint sound of music wafted through the air, and Jon felt his heart speed up before his mind realized what he was hearing. The lower tones resonated through his chest and bones and the higher tones drove through his brain like needles, and then like spikes as they walked closer and closer to its origin and it grew louder and louder.

“Calliope,” Jon murmured.

“I’d always thought it was pronounced ‘calliope’,” Martin said dreamily, and Jon shuddered and tried to stop walking. Couldn’t. Martin placed a kiss on his hair. “Breathe, Jon. It’ll be okay.”

Jon blinked once and then stopped blinking. He could feel the strings pulling him forward and Knew similar strings were directing Martin. He Knew that the statues were following them, just out of sight, or just not quite out of sight, depending on the statue’s preference. He Knew The Web was pulling him into a trap for The Stranger, and he Knew that he’d agreed to let this happen the moment he’d stepped into the house on Hill Top Road. The chance to avoid this was long past, and there was nothing he could do.

One of the river clubs had an open door, warm light spilling from its inviting entrance, the sound of cheerful music filling the air. Martin and Jon walked in, still snuggled together, separating only once they entered a dimly lit room with two chairs. Jon took the one closest to the door. Martin took the one by the wall. They waited.

“ **Why did you come here?** ” Jon asked Martin.

“The Web,” Martin said. “I was pulled.” He frowned. “I was… I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t have brought you here. We should leave.” He didn’t move to get up.

“It’s okay,” Jon reassured him, relieved that a simple question was all it had taken for Martin’s wits to return, even if neither of them could do anything about the situation. “I mean, it’s not _ideal_ , but The Web is a subtle power. Whatever they’re planning, it’s not dragging us here and murdering us. We can work with anything else.”

Martin looked at Jon as if he had two heads. “You can’t seriously believe that.”

“I’ve been kidnapped before,” Jon said, suppressing a smile as Martin actually rolled his eyes at that. “So far, it’s varied between threats to skin me to murdering a man who terrified me to a road trip to a lovely meal. Odds are pretty good that The Web will be somewhere closer to the latter.”

“How many times are you going to have to die before you figure out that these things play for keeps,” Martin grumbled. But he’d relaxed, at least a little. After all, The Web had always been fair to him.

The music swelled to a cheerful peak before ending on an eerie out-of-tune note. Jon winced and focused his senses, hoping to hear or see anything coming out of the corners of the poorly-lit room before they startled him. He was sure his fear was enough for whoever was holding them without resorting to jump scares, but he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t happen anyway.

As it was the way the shadows moved, unfolding in a smoothly inhuman way, were enough to heighten his apprehension and make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. They slowly took shape and Jon felt the phantom sensation of bonds and a gag as the not-quite-right humanoid forms moved towards him in a not-quite-right humanoid way. Nicola was dead. Whatever that meant for things like her. She couldn’t be here, couldn’t caress and cut him, couldn’t laugh at him and chide him. These weren’t hers, though they were whoever she considered her master’s.

The dolls approached them, taking position beside them. Martin’s dolls looked like circus clowns, while Jon’s looked like large porcelain dolls. All four were smiling great wide smiles that didn’t touch their eyes. The two beside Martin had knives on their belts. Jon’s were unarmed. Jon was beginning to see how this was likely to go.

“If it makes you feel better, they’re not here for revenge.”

Jon knew that voice. He’d never heard it in person, but he’d heard it telling (or lying) about its childhood. “Ms Cane?”

“Please. Call me Annabelle.”

“Annabelle, what are–” One of the dolls slapped its hand over Jon’s mouth, muffling the rest of his question.

“None of that, Archivist,” another voice ordered. “We’re hoping to have a conversation, and we’re aware that that might require mutual questions and answers, but if you try to get anything out of Annabelle or myself that we don’t want to give, we’ll take it out on your friend.” One of the clowns removed the knife from its belt, underlining the threat. “Careful with your phrasing.”

Jon nodded. The doll released him. “Would you mind telling me what you needed to bring us here for?”

“Not at all,” Annabelle said, stepping into view. Jon had known she was tall, but he hadn’t quite realized what that meant until she managed to loom over him from more than a meter away. “I wanted to speak with you without any other servants of The Eye overhearing. Anna Malli was courteous enough to arrange this safe space for us.”

The Stranger conceals, Jon remembered. “What’s in it for her?” Martin gave a soft, aborted cry as one of the clowns cut his cheek. It was shallow, but it would be a visible reminder for days, if not weeks, that Jon had let him get hurt.

“We don’t want you to succeed anymore than you wanted Nicola to succeed,” the woman beside Annabelle, Anna Malli apparently, answered. “For much the same reason. The Web has been reasonably good to us.”

Jon peered at her, and realized he was not quite correct in thinking of her as a woman. “Which anatomy class did you attend?” he asked. She laughed.

“The Finnish medical schools are exemplary. I just liked the… multiple options available.”

Annabelle stepped forward. “We’ve been watching you for a while, Jon. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you. What might surprise you is that we haven’t really interfered. We’ve given you tools and options, but we’ve let you destroy or discard them as you see fit. The table was unfortunate, but it wasn’t really being used for its intended purpose anyway.”

“The table was delivered by Breekon and Hope. It was The Stranger, not The Web.”

Annabelle looked at him with overexaggerated pity. “Of course. Believe what you will. In any case, we stood by and watched you make enemies of The Desolation and The Vast, watched you court The Hunt and The Spiral over and over, watched you pit yourself against The Stranger, and planned around you. We feel that the time is fast approaching, however, that planning around you won’t be enough. The emergence of The Extinction is once again imminent, and The Eye has yet to play its hand.”

“So you’re… I would guess that you’re planning on stopping The Eye’s ritual.”

Anna Malli nodded approvingly. “Well done. And yes. Gertrude Robinson stopped several others, and some just petered out without fruition, but Beholding has something special planned.”

“And that involves me.”

“Quite directly,” Annabelle said. “We’re not sure how, but we know some things you don’t. For one, the only time a ritual has a chance of succeeding is when The Extinction fully manifests. This isn’t incidental. In a real way, humanity as we know it ceases to be, and something else takes its place, even if no one truly dies.”

“I don’t understand,” Jon said, looking to Martin who looked helplessly back.

“The world is rewritten,” Annabelle said. “Have you never considered what that means? It doesn’t mean England suddenly becomes a fiery hellscape, not necessarily. It means that the way fears manifest and are expressed, the way they are experienced, changes. Should The Desolation win, that could mean fire and brimstone, but it could as easily mean famine and floods. Whatever the power that wins desires, that is what humanity becomes.”

Martin shrugged at Jon’s questioning look. “I don’t know. Peter never said anything about this.”

“He wouldn’t know. Elias wouldn’t necessarily know either, although he might. After his first failed attempt, he would have tried to learn everything he could to ensure another wouldn’t lead to disaster,” Annabelle said. “It is always difficult to tell the extent of The Eye’s knowledge, and even more so to attempt to do so without giving it more. I’m hoping you’re reluctant enough to end this world that you won’t be tempted to rule the next, Jon.”

“I don’t want to end anything,” Jon insisted. “But I don’t know if I can trust you. You won’t let me ask, and I can’t be sure you’re telling the truth.”

Annabelle looked at Anna Malli and nodded. “Ask, then.”

Jon took a moment to choose his phrasing. She claimed not to know what Elias was planning, so he it might be a waste to ask about that. “How do you know so much about what the rituals need? I thought The Web didn’t do rituals.”

“That’s because we’ve already succeeded,” Annabelle said. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out. This world isn’t a pristine, pure version of humanity, it’s The Web’s.”

“That… that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Think about it, Archivist,” Anna Malli said. “What defines humanity? Their short lifespans, the need to live communally, their strong imaginations? How about their physical vulnerability, their fear of outsiders,” she bowed shallowly to Annabelle who smiled back graciously, “their retroactive justifications, everything to do with politics… It’s all Web. Everything needed to make paranoia and uncertainty the core of their fear. It’s serviced us, as it’s serviced you – without curiosity, The Eye would starve. The Web is good at balance, Archivist, and at maintaining a subtle distance. We can’t be assured The Eye will be as generous.”

Annabelle stepped forward. “Our ritual succeeded, Jon. Millennia ago. The world has danced on spider strings for as long as there have been written records. How many statements have you read where the victims admits they don’t know why they made the choices they made that placed them in the path of some terror or another?” She sighed. “Of course, it’s hardly certain. The World Wars seemed to pave a path for The Slaughter to ascend. Consumerism made The Desolation’s job much simpler. And then there’s the surveillance state. The Eye thrives as it’s never thrived before. Every time The Extinction starts emerging, the rituals start, and we pit those we think might succeed against those who fear their success. We haven’t failed yet.”

“You want me to preserve this world for you, rather than take the reins of humanity for myself?” Jon said. “Why? Why would I, if this world is already saturated with horror, why wouldn’t I choose my own power over being a tool for yours?”

“Because this is the world you know, filled with a humanity that knows the rules and abides by them. Mostly. This is a world filled with people who wouldn’t be protected by The Eye, people you care about.” Annabelle walked over to Martin and stroked his unmarred cheek. “Would you sacrifice their current lives for the uncertainty of the world your master would bring about?”

Jon tried to imagine a world ruled by The Eye. It could be better. It could be a world where lies and secrets had no place, where everything was open. Open and… terrifying. It would have to be terrifying, and there would be no place to hide from that terror. Such things were anathema to The Eye. The Web was good at balance. Jon clenched his hands into fists, then realized that he could clench his hands into fists. He stood.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Nothing you wouldn’t do on your own,” Annabelle assured him. “All we wanted was for you to know enough to make the right decisions.”

“To make the decisions _you_ want him to make,” Martin protested, still seated. “Don’t pretend you’ve told him everything. Withholding information is just as powerful as sharing it.”

Annabelle hummed in amusement. “True. Very well, Jon. I’ll make you a deal: I’ll give you one truth you wouldn’t even know to ask about. An unknown unknown. In return,” Martin stood up, feet apart, arms spread open, “we demand a limb. One limb, taken from or given to, your paramour.”

Martin’s eyes flashed with fear, and Jon remembered the sensation of four arms touching him inside the house on Hill Top Road. He imagined Martin touching him like that. “It’s a tempting offer. Allow me to make a counter offer. Leave Martin alone, and you can have one of mine for your unknown unknown.” He might need the information, he might not. But he wasn’t willing to risk Martin further. “Anything but my right hand.”

Annabelle laughed. “I’m afraid not.” She waved her hand, and Martin stumbled forward before catching himself. “If that’s everything–”

“Wait,” Jon said, the talk of limbs reminding him. “I have four connections, don’t I? One’s to Martin, one’s to you. What do the other two connect to?”

“You needn’t worry about that,” Annabelle said. “They’re just contingency plans.”

“ **What did you connect me to?** ” Jon Asked.

“Martin and myself, of course,” Annabelle answered, a scowl on her face. “And the little death avatar who hid you.”

“Georgie?”

Annabelle still didn’t look pleased. “You need Anchors to pull you away from whatever trap Elias has waiting for you. I’ll do my best, as I’m sure will Martin, but she is literally fearless. She may be able to succeed where we fail.”

“And the fourth…”

“A contingency to a contingency,” Annabelle said. “Should all your other strings break, that one will unerringly reel you back in. After all, he’s not displeased with the gift you gave him, but he always. Wants. More.”

Jon had been, with brief breaks for happiness with Martin, scared for the better part of four years. Becoming an avatar of The Eye had, if anything, enhanced that fear. This was the first time it had become genuinely overwhelming. His vision narrowed until all he could see was Annabelle’s grimly vindicated expression, the rest of the room turning grey, then black. He could feel his throat close, his lungs spasm, his heart race, his hands shake; but it all felt distant as numbness overcame him. He could faintly feel the strong grip of large hands grasping his shoulders, supporting him through the dizziness and panic that overwhelmed him, that would have brought him to his knees otherwise.

“Mr. Spider,” Jon heard himself say, the words slow and oddly slurred.

Annabelle looked away from him. “Take him home. He’s no use to anyone in this state.” That was a lie. Jon knew _exactly_ who, or rather what, was feeding on him, and it wasn’t The Eye. At least not exclusively. He felt himself stumble forward as those hand gently guided him out of the club house and back onto the street. The ‘statues’ from before were gathered, and Jon felt Martin tense before cautiously picking his way between them. He wished he could tell Martin that they wouldn’t do anything, that The Web and The Stranger had an alliance, but he couldn’t form words. The scenery changed every time he blinked, and he realized he was losing time. It took some effort, but he managed to focus into the here and now by the time they crossed the river and headed back to Martin’s.

He could feel the tremors wracking his body as they turned down Martin’s street, and managed to get enough control over himself to curl up on the couch as soon as Martin unlocked the door. Martin settled beside him, rubbing his shoulders, only getting up to grab a comforter and wrap Jon up in it. Jon could hear him murmuring an endless stream of words that he couldn’t quite process. It sounded like it was meant to be reassuring. Jon tried to be reassured, but he couldn’t escape the knowledge that there was a link between his body and the monster that had haunted him since his childhood.

There had to be a way to tell Martin what was wrong. Jon couldn’t, physically _couldn’t_. But The Archivist could.

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, regarding a childhood encounter with a book formerly possessed by Jurgen Leitner.”

Martin sat through the entire story, and Jon felt his mind return to its normal baseline level of terror. He could function through this. “It’s alright, Martin.”

“It really isn’t.”

Jon sat up just enough to wrap the comforter around both of them and cuddle up to Martin’s side. “Annabelle was right. If this goes so badly that our bond breaks, that even she and Georgie can’t tear me away from whatever Elias has planned, then it’s better that I be destroyed than the entire world.” And Mr. Spider would destroy him. Eventually, after he’d sated himself on Jon’s fear. Jon Knew how long prey could live, trapped and paralyzed in a spider’s web. It was still better than the alternative.

“Is it?” Martin said. “I know we decided that we weren’t going to end the world, but that was before we knew The Web already had control of this one. It’s not that great, really. Who’s to say that The Eye wouldn’t make a better one?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. I don’t think anything would change for the better. Not with these powers. Humanity’s adapted to The Web’s machinations. Most people are born and live and die without even noticing. I don’t think a power that values knowing the kind of terror you’re experiencing would allow for that kind of peaceful ignorance.”

Martin shook his head. “So, what, they just win? We just shrug our shoulders and accept the lesser of two evils?”

“Given that I’m pretty sure I’m the key to unleashing the greater of two evils, yes. I think we do.” Jon turned in Martin’s arms, until he was half-straddling him. “What do you honestly think will happen to you in a world ruled by The Eye? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine, but what about everyone else?”

“You don’t really care about them,” Martin snapped. “I know you don’t. You just think you should, and that’s not the same thing.”

“I… no, maybe I don’t. Not everyone. But I do care about you, and Georgie, and Daisy and Basira and Melanie. That’s enough.”

Martin grabbed him and kissed him angrily. “Stop it. I’m not losing you in some desperate attempt to sacrifice yourself for the world.”

Jon shivered and melted against Martin, as if he’d made some kind of romantic declaration. “You’re right. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Some perverse sense of honesty forced him to continue. “Not if there’s any other option.”

“I can give you other options,” Martin promised. “Please, just… let me help you.”

Jon stroked Martin’s hair and tried not to think of how many strings might be attached to him. Going to The Web might have been necessary, but Jon still regretted it. “Take me to bed.”

He removed his shirt as Martin carried him to the bedroom. Martin gently dumped him on the bed and stripped while Jon wriggled out of his trousers and under the clean sheets. The room still smelled of sex and Jon sighed happily as Martin lay atop him, his bulk pinning Jon’s torso and legs to the bed, leaving only his head and arms free to reach up and pull Martin down for a kiss. Jon could barely breathe through the pressure on his chest, but it was a comfortable smothering, warm and soft. After a few moments, Martin took his wrists and pinned them to the bed, pressing his face into the crook of Jon’s neck.

“Martin?” Jon said softly, not wanting to break the peaceful closeness. “I can’t move.”

“I know,” Martin said. “Just… let me have this. Let me know that, just for tonight, I can keep you safe.”

Jon took a deep breath and relaxed into the gentle pressure that surrounded him. “Alright. Love you.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Martin…”

“Lie to me if you have to. Just promise me you won’t leave me.”

Jon wanted to wrap his arms around Martin and hold him somehow even closer. He settled for shifting his arms enough that he could lace his fingers through Martin’s. “I love you more than anything. I will always choose the option that hurts you the least, I promise.”

Martin sobbed into Jon’s neck and Jon ached for him. It wasn’t until Martin had cried himself to sleep and Jon felt able to fall asleep himself.

They both woke before the alarm and got ready for the day. Jon felt like he was donning armour as he dressed for work, and the grimness with which Martin chose his attire seemed to indicate the same. They ate breakfast silently, each caught up in their own thoughts and fears and plans for the day. 

Jon gathered up the dishes and started rinsing them off in the sink. He was surprised by the wave of relief and gratitude that washed over him as Martin came up behind him and wrapped his hands around his waist, tucking his chin into the crook between Jon’s neck and shoulder. He relaxed and leaned into the embrace.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jon,” Martin murmured, tightening his hold. “No matter what happens, if you’re alive, we can work towards fixing it.”

Jon wasn’t sure that was true. Still. “I’ll try not to,” Jon promised. “Nothing too self-sacrificing or rash, unless there’s no other choice.”

“ _No_ other choice,” Martin emphasized.

Jon turned in Martin’s arms and kissed him instead of answering. He didn’t know how to tell Martin that he had no intention of dying, particularly not at the hands of Mr. Spider. If ‘hands’ was even the right word. He shuddered and pressed closer to Martin, seeking the comfort of that solid body against his.

“I don’t have anything else,” Martin whispered as Jon trembled against him. “If I lose you, I’ll have nothing. And I’m not letting The Lonely take me again.”

“No,” Jon agreed, even though he Knew Martin was lying, that a part of him longed for the simple embrace of the uncaring power. “I understand. We survive together or not at all.”

They held each other close all the way to the Institute, parting only when Martin descended into The Archives and Jon climbed the stairs to Elias’s office.

“I’ll do it,” he said, not even waiting for Elias’s greeting.

“Excellent,” Elias said. “I do wish Peter could be here to witness this, but we’ll have to manage without his gloating. Somehow.” He smiled and gestured for Jon to lead the way. 

The tunnels were as illogical as Jon had remembered them, but Elias strode through them as if it was his old neighbourhood. Jon wasn’t sure when they turned a corner into some part that he’d never explored, but he did notice when the resonance of his footsteps changed, the echoes both clearer and sharper and oddly muffled and quiet. The Panopticon was aptly named, he realized as he looked out over what must have been the entirety of Millbank prison. He could see everything.

“Not yet you can’t,” Elias said, gently pushing Jon towards the chair in the center of the room. It was occupied.

Jon often wished that he couldn’t Know things without his consent. “Jonah Magnus.”

“In a way. It’s fortunate I’m here with you, Jon. Without my help, the only way to usurp him would have been to kill him.” Elias smiled. “And I know you wouldn’t want that.”

“The beating heart of The Magnus Institute.”

Elias touched the decrepit body with an odd sort of fondness. “For two hundred years. Doesn’t look a day older than one-twenty, does he? Good genes, I suppose.”

“It’s interesting that you refer to him in the third person.”

Elias’s laugh was warm and amused and Jon hated how comfortable he was. “This body’s not mine any longer. It serves a purpose, but it’s merely a tool. One that I would be more than happy to replace with you.”

“Temporarily,” Jon insisted.

“As temporarily as you like,” Elias said, still smiling. Jon hated how assured he was. No, he just hated Elias. In general. “Are you prepared?”

“As prepared as I can be.”

Elias gently removed Jonah Magnus’s body from the seat of the Panopticon and gestured for Jon to sit. The chair wasn’t warm, despite having a body in it moments before, and Jon shuddered at the implications. He rested his hands on the armrests and waited. Nothing happened.

“Your eyes are closed,” Elias said gently. “You have to open them, Jon.”

Jon didn’t want to. He was scared. He was always scared. He felt Elias gently cup his cheeks and stroke his thumbs over Jon’s closed eyelids. Jon felt his heart race, his breath come quick and shallow, his hands tremble.

Elias sighed in obvious pleasure. “Yes, Jon. Just like that.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s forehead. “In fear and dread and supplication, come to our master. Open yourself and become The Archive.”

He was a breath away from Jon’s face. When Jon opened his eyes, Elias’s smug, overbearing face should have been at the center of his vision. It wasn’t. Jon opened his eyes and saw…

 _Everything_.

It was simple. Well, no, it was complicated and occasionally messy, but it was straightforward. Well, no it wasn’t, but it was logical. It had a logic to it. One could figure it out with enough hints. And Jon had _all_ the hints now. There was no obfuscation, no half-truths or diversions, nothing but everything, laid out in glorious chaos.

The Eye had no interest in understanding. It gathered knowledge for its own sake, ensuring that the price was high enough that it could feed on the fear and regret that followed. Jon, however, wanted to understand. _Needed_ to understand, and The Eye was patient with its servant, willing to allow him the time he needed to make sense of everything.

The thing was… The thing was that humanity was mutable. Or, rather, that humanity wasn’t people. Or it wasn’t just people, and people weren’t just humans, and humanity wasn’t as important as it thought it was. Jon would have laughed, realizing that Melanie had been completely correct, had he the time. He didn’t. There was more to know, more to understand.

The fears weren’t fears. They were… Jon’s mind fractured and veered tangentially, too close to knowledge that would break him. The Eye was willing to wait until he could accommodate that depth of new knowledge, and gave him an approximation instead. The fears were… moods. The idea of them as a foot or a hand or a face was too tangible, too real. Parts-of-a-whole, yes, but nothing like limbs. They were moods. A Jon who was happy was the same as a Jon who was sad or angry, but manifested differently. And everyone had a predominant mood. Jon had never been a ‘happy person’, but if he had, he would be the same person, but with a different life. The world was a Web World. If it was an Eye World, it would be the same world, but… different.

The Web had had a good run, Jon supposed. A world of manipulation and subtlety. Removing them from power wouldn’t destroy them, just as smiling never banished sadness. A world where nothing was hidden, where everyone could arm themselves against their reality, rather than hope it never touched them, wasn’t a worse world. And he could help! He could collect what he’d learned, find a way to summarize the infinite, and share his knowledge with the world. He could lead them into this new world, carefully preparing them for the challenges they’d face. He could make a difference.

Martin, Georgie… He could protect them. He was the font of all knowledge, he could anoint them. The Spider would protest, and The End would claim its due (eventually) but Jon could overrule both, in the short-term at least. And Melanie and Basira and even Daisy would rise to power within this world. He could finally give them the security they’d lost when they’d first contracted with the Archives. Daisy would be strong and Melanie would be calm and Basira would finally find her place in the world. In Jon’s world. In the world he would create.

After he destroyed this one.

The ecstasy and exaltation that coursed through Jon turned sour at that thought. He wasn’t sure why. This world was already corrupt, already tainted, already false. His world would be no less so, only he would rule it. He and Elias, _Jonah_ , he supposed. The thought added another layer of disgust. It shouldn’t have mattered. He wasn’t doing this for Elia–Jonah. He was doing this for Beholding, for his friends, for himself. If Jonah benefited, well, Jon supposed that was a reasonable price to pay.

A memory skittered across his mind. A tape. Elias’s smooth voice turning vicious. Melanie’s broken sobs. The realization that Elias was far worse than a mere murderer. Jon shook his head. It didn’t matter. His world would be glorious.

Another memory. Martin smiling at him under a duvet, sharing secrets by the flickering light of a television neither of them were watching. Something small and delicate blooming in Jon’s chest. Something that wouldn’t have had the opportunity to grow without the slow, gentle revelations that Martin had shared with him. Jon set his jaw and turned away. He would have loved Martin had he Known everything about him from the start. No one would be deceived in his world. Everyone would know exactly where they stood with everyone else.

Georgie, surprised, then worried, then welcoming when he turned up at her door after running away from Jurgen Leitner’s body. Giving him space, letting him keep her safe by keeping his secrets. No! He hadn’t kept her safe like that. The circus had still found him. He’d only indulged his own pride by hiding the truth from her. He should have told her from the start, let her make a truly informed decision.

His first day at work, surrounded by Gertrude’s hard work, obfuscating the truth to prevent a monster from destroying the world.

“I’m a better Archivist than she was,” Jon said. “Everyone says so.” She was stronger, braver, wiser, more clever, but he was _better_. He would make the world _better_.

The memories stopped. One for every strand. Made sense. The Web’s last effort to prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. Jon felt the power of The Extinction and The Eye flow through him, giving him the means to rewrite existence. He was filled with their power, an energy coursing through him, turning him from a being of mere flesh and blood into a creature of potential. He was not a god. But he could channel gods and, really, wasn’t that the same thing?

He’d completely forgotten that he had a body when something large and warm rammed into it. The power and certainly that had been his entire existence was cut off, and he was suddenly the smaller half of a tangle of limbs, and the acrid scent of smoke filled his lungs. He coughed. It felt incredibly… human.

The scent of smoke seemed to be coming from the hair that was settled under his nose. Jon blinked and realized that he was on the ground, sprawled under Martin’s bulk, their hearts literally beating in time. He wrapped his arms around Martin’s back, and felt Martin sob once in relief before pulling away. “We need to leave.”

Jon frowned. “Why do you smell like smoke?”

“I… I might have burned down your Archive. A little. Or a lot. Depends on if Elias can get to the fire suppression system quickly enough. He can _move_ for an old man.”

Jon stared at him. “You _what_?”

“Well, it occurred to me that he’d be pretty distracted by you and it seemed like a good opportunity. Artefact Storage was basically untouched, but the Archives was pretty far gone by the time I started following our string, and the Library was starting to smoulder. Everyone got out, of course. We’re gonna need to exit somewhere other than the Archives, though. Those tunnels are pretty full of smoke. And probably a little fire.”

“Probably,” Jon agreed faintly. “By now, at least.”

“Right, so. Let’s go?”

Jon let Martin take his hand and help him up. “I was going to do it, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was going to destroy this world and create my own.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Guess going to The Web was a pretty clever idea.”

Jon laughed. “Yes, yes. You’re not just a pretty face.”

“Nope. I’m a pretty face with a lighter!” Martin grinned and grabbed Jon’s hand. “Let’s go.”

They left Jonah Mangus’s body where Elias had placed it, slumped against the wall. Elias would be back for it, surely. Or not. Jon didn’t care.

He’d ridden the power from two separate fears. He could still feel the echoes of that power, of that knowledge, coursing through him. Contract or no, Elias had no claim on him. He was free, along with his assistants. Elias could start from scratch as far as Jon was concerned. He was still The Archivist, and it would take more than a few bullets to kill him as powerful as he was now. The Eye’s ritual had failed. Jonah Magnus could try again in another few centuries.

Melanie cried when Jon told her she was free. It was the good kind of crying, and then she punched his shoulder, so she was probably fine. Basira just looked satisfied and relieved, while Daisy looked grimly determined. They thanked Jon and told him they hoped to never see him again and left. Jon and Martin waited with Melanie for Georgie to pick her up. By the time they were gone, most of the other Institute staff had left, leaving Elias and the fire department and, oddly enough, Rosie, to deal with the aftermath. She was still speaking with the authorities when Elias disengaged to come over to them.

He didn’t look angry. Jon was honestly surprised – Elias had a decent poker face, of course, but his entire world had crumbled around him on the cusp of his greatest victory. Still, the Panopticon was likely too far away from the fire to be affected, and he could rebuild. He’d waited two hundred years, after all.

“Jon. Did you enjoy your little experiment?” Elias asked, as if Martin wasn’t even there. Martin, obviously used to this, didn’t react. “The Panopticon can be quite a lot to take, at first.”

“It helped,” Jon said honestly. He had a better, more in-depth understanding of how everything worked now. Of course, he also couldn’t quite shake the euphoric high of allowing himself to become a vessel for overwhelming reality-altering powers, but he was sure constantly reminding himself of what he loved about this world would keep that craving at bay. He took Martin’s hand.

“You’re always welcome to try again,” Elias said, “ritual or no. It’s as much your place as it is… _was_ mine. You will always be welcome here, Archivist.”

Jon hummed softly. “I know why you chose me, Elias.” Elias made a soft, attentive noise that wasn’t quite a question. “You had dozens of employees Marked by various powers. You had enough items in Artefact Storage to ensure you could, should you need to, Mark them further if needed. But my Mark was The Web. The one power you knew you couldn’t manipulate or use.”

“They Marked you too young,” Elias said. “Not their fault – they had intended to consume you, after all. A quick snack. You had potential as a child, but you only grew into it as an adult. And that potential was never for The Web. You were always Beholding’s for the taking.”

“I can’t deny that,” Jon admitted. “I do belong to The Eye. But I don’t belong to you.”

“Not anymore,” Elias agreed easily. “You may not have my experience, but I must admit I now consider you an equal. Take care, Jon.”

“Goodbye, Elias.”

Martin’s flat was oddly warm and welcoming, for a bastion of The Lonely. Jon sighed as he sank down on the couch that featured in so many emotionally fraught memories and just let himself exist. Martin planted a kiss on top of his head and went to boil water, presumably for tea.

“It’s not over,” Jon said. “The Extinction is still emerging, and not every power has attempted a ritual.”

“Mr. Fairchild isn’t likely to,” Martin called from the kitchen. “He wants to use space, and it’s too soon for that.”

“Or so he claims,” Jon muttered to himself. “I don’t believe The Hunt has made an attempt.”

Martin brought in the tray of tea, letting it steep in the pot. “What happens if no one succeeds?”

“The same thing that always happens. Nothing. The Extinction returns to dormancy and we continue to live in The Web’s world.”

Martin shrugged and settled next to Jon. “There are worse things.”

Jon kissed him, just because he could. “There are. I mean, you’re obviously biased, but… there are.”

They almost lost track of the time, but Martin managed to wriggle out from under Jon in time to save the tea. They drank together, peacefully, before tidying up and retiring to the bedroom. It was, after all, technically afternoon.

Lying next to Martin, listening to his happy, sated breathing, Jon was struck by a realization. “We need to get jobs.”

“…what?”

“Well, you’re not going back to work for Peter Lukas, and I’m not going back to work for Elias Bouchard, so…” Jon laughed. “Job hunting. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can still end the world.”

Martin snorted. “You worry too much. It’s all about how confidently you can lie.”

“Well, that’s you settled,” Jon griped. “I’m _terrible_ at lying.”

“Sure. You just have your prestigious position and university education and posh accent. You’re screwed,” Martin said. “Who would hire you?” Jon poked him and Martin laughed. “Maybe if I get in good with whoever hires me, we can give you a pity position. Something that uses your brilliant people skills, like reception, or your impressive physical strength, like warehouse.” Jon poked him harder.

Martin rolled on top of him. Jon made a whoofing noise as Martin’s bulk settled atop him, flailing a bit until Martin pinned his arms. It was hard to breathe, particularly given that Jon was using all the air he could get to laugh uncontrollably. Martin wriggled and whatever breath remained in Jon’s lungs left in a rush and he went lax and pliant. Martin kissed him.

“We’ll be fine,” Martin said.

Jon smiled. “We will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jon raised an eyebrow. “I know you just finished, but…”

“No sex. Only snuggling.”

“Alright.” Jon was flush with the memory of the powers coursing through him, with the rush of freedom from Elias, with the heady feel of Martin’s adoration. He could still feel the hunger from The Eye urging him to delve deeper into the horrors of the world, could still feel the tendrils from The Web manifesting connections both hated and loved, could feel the impending weight of The Extinction, looking for another power to latch onto. But all those feelings were background to the comfort and closeness of Martin cuddling into him.

“So,” Martin said after a few minutes of silent snuggling. “I have this nice apartment in a good location. It doesn’t have an extra bedroom, but if you’d be willing to bedshare, I think we could make it work.”

Jon tamped down the fluttery feeling in his stomach. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well, it makes sense. We’re of limited means, without jobs and all. No point in you paying rent when I’m going to insist on having you here every night.”

“How romantic.”

Martin rolled over, taking Jon’s hand in both of his. “Jonathan Sims, will you stay with me forever?”

From logistics to an eternal vow. Jon would never get tired of Martin’s odd quirks. “Only if you’ll stay with me forever too.”

Martin frowned. “Well. I mean. I’d have to, wouldn’t I?”

“Then, yes,” Jon said, pulling Martin in for a kiss. “I do.”


	5. Defeat from the Jaws of Victory

Jon looked up at the first sound of the key in the lock, pushing aside his papers and moving towards the door before it had fully opened.

“How was your day at work?” he asked, taking Martin’s briefcase in one hand and pulling him down for a kiss with the other.

“Boring,” Martin said after the kiss. “Just like every other time you’ve asked. It’s a bank, Jon. Nothing ever happens.” It was still better than working for Peter Lukas, no matter that they’d reconciled somewhat when Jon had explained The Extinction to him as he’d requested.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop asking,” Jon said, letting Martin in and returning to his papers. “And at least you can leave your work at the office. If these aren’t done by the weekend, we might have to postpone our trip.”

Martin scoffed. “Just give them all As and Bs. No one’ll complain and we can enjoy a guilt-free vacation from your students’ poorly crafted writing.” He eyed the pile on the table, and estimated that Jon would be done before Thursday in any case. “Anything… meaty?”

“No. Most people never have a supernatural encounter, and I fear I’ve milked this year’s students for all they’re worth. I don’t suppose…” Jon grinned as Martin reached into his coat and took out a letter-sized brown envelope. “I have no idea how you do it.”

“I see twenty to thirty new people each day,” Martin said. “At least. And I’m _very_ good at finding just the right thing to say to get them to jot down the worst thing that has ever happened to them. Most of them feel better afterwards.”

Jon kissed him again. “My big, strong provider.” He reached for the envelope, pouting when Martin raised it above his head, but gamely going onto his tiptoes and straining high enough that his shirt untucked itself and rode up enough for Martin to get his hand on bare skin. Jon snatched the envelope and teetered just off-balance enough that Martin was able to turn him around, shamelessly groping Jon’s chest while lightly grounding against his backside. Jon tilted his head back and allowed Martin to kiss him, sloppy and heated, his other hand working at the front of Jon’s trousers.

“I suppose these can wait,” Jon allowed as Martin bent him over the back of the couch, pulling his trousers down and impatiently pressing his cock between the warm skin of Jon’s thighs. “Talk to me?”

There were times when Martin was so overwhelmed by his own desire that he couldn’t speak. Jon tried to be patient for him, but he always felt somewhat unsatisfied at those times. This wasn’t one of them. “I was so excited to get three statements for you,” Martin said, nuzzling the back of Jon’s neck as he thrust against the swell of Jon’s buttocks. “Your cravings have gotten worse, recently. I’ve seen you looking at people, starting like a lion evaluating potential gazelles.”

“And you call yourself a poet,” Jon groused, slightly miffed that Martin had noticed when he’d been so proud of his control and subtlety.

“You look so pretty when you’re on the hunt,” Martin just said, as if Jon’s complaint was as meaningless as it was. “But it’s never worth the regret that comes after, so I was determined to find something for you today.” His breath came fast and hot, and Jon could tell he was getting close. “And I found three.”

Jon tried to force his legs tighter together, tried to squeeze his arse to give Martin something more substantial to push against. “Have I thanked you yet?”

“I mean,” Martins said, his rhythm interrupted by a soft laugh. “I rather thought you were.”

“No,” Jon said. “This is just because you’re pretty.” Martin groaned and thrust and stilled and Jon could feel the rush of fluid between his legs, then the slow ooze of it down his thighs. “Thank you.”

Martin draped almost his entire weight on Jon’s back, laughing softly. “No, thank you.” They fell together in a tangles mess of limbs and rumpled clothes and sweat and semen. Jon twisted just enough to easily kiss Martin’s mouth, and set about detangling them.

“We still need to prepare actual dinner,” he reminded Martin when Martin was absolutely no help at all, sliding his way down Jon’s body to lick up the mess he’d left between Jon’s legs. “And I still have work to do.”

“Mmm?” Martin said from between Jon’s thighs. Jon sighed and lay back and let Martin do whatever he wanted. It was rarely, in his experience, a bad plan.

They eventually changed and ate and sat together, Martin jotting down ideas and occasionally scribbling out lines of poetry, Jon marking papers. Jon was sipping wine, but had a hard two-glass limit because after that he really _did_ start giving out far too many As and Bs. He was just finishing his first glass when Martin stood up and kissed the top of his head.

“I’m getting a shower. Don’t forget to read at least one of those statements. We don’t want you going feral on us and slinking back to Elias with your tail between your legs.”

“That is a disgusting mental image and I will never forgive you for it,” Jon said, turning his face up for a proper kiss. “I’ll read a quick one, then join you, if that’s alright.”

Martin beamed. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll get everything set up and ready. Don’t take too long.”

“Right,” Jon said, watching Martin leave with a spring in his step. He opened the envelope and leafed through the statements to find the shortest. He smiled as he realized that there were, in fact, four, not three. He checked quickly, but none of them were from Martin. He hadn’t had one of Martin’s statements for a while, and he was missing them. Perhaps he’d ask for one the next time he was desperate. They were always somehow better when he was desperate.

For now, though, Martin was waiting for him. He grabbed the shortest one, in easily legible feminine handwriting, and started reading.

“Statement of Hazel Rutter regarding a fire in her childhood home on August 9th, 1992.” He turned the page.

“Hello, Jon.”


End file.
